


Poise and recklessness

by meinposhbastard



Series: 2019 tropes fic challenge [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate universe - Mafia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom!Peter, M/M, Sub!Wade, depowered AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 15:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19403332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: In which Wade is a sub and contacts a BDSM agency that sends him Peter. From there on it's a masked dance - in more ways than one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The 'graphic depiction of violence' is for later in this chapter.
> 
> This unplanned fucker had the first 25k written in 3 days. I have 3 unfinished BBs, brain. Pull yourself together.
> 
> Loads of thank you to Noir and Empool for looking over this long-ass fic!

***

His needs were particular. 

No uninvited touching. 

At any moment. 

He wore gloves when he needed to meet strangers and do the whole shaking hands jazz, and a bespoke suit even though he hated the way the tie snared around his throat as if it was still pondering if it wanted to strangle him or not. The suspense was killing him on a good day and entertained him on a bad one.

He loosened the snare, touching his tablet on his glass table to bring the screen to life. There were 28 unread emails and twice as many notifications from various social sites he had signed up. For  _ funsies.  _ What better hobby than to troll people on the Internet— and create  _ discomfort  _ between his rivals?

Sometimes the spaciousness and expensiveness of his rented penthouse depressed him, but he only ever used it to sleep in and relax when social life became too much.

His phone pinged with a reminder.

_ 8.30PM meet. _

A bit over half an hour until he’d meet the person that matched his particular needs. Shiklah had suggested this select club. Or agency. Or whatever they called themselves. It took him a couple of weeks and a few territory skirmishes with his neighborhood underworld rivals to make him give in. He needed more than violence to be satisfied. He needed the sex, but without the touch.

Shiklah told him once, about a year and a half ago when he was still trying to fit the image he had of himself with what he saw in the mirror, that he needed humanity.

Bullshit.

He was human enough. Too human, more like. Otherwise he wouldn’t look like a meat grinder had angry sex with a banana.

He untied the tie completely and unbuttoned his shirt all the way down as he walked to the back of the apartment. He took a shower, although the black tub looked tempting. The only problem was that he always ended up falling asleep there. It was like when people said that they couldn’t read a book because they fell asleep almost instantly.

His skin was itchy around his crotch, armpits,and feet because those were the areas on his body where he sweated the most and where the material he wore usually bunched and sometimes chafed. 

Nothing beat a long shower to calm his skin. At least he could stand his own touch otherwise he would’ve been in deep shit. That meant that he could tend to himself without needing the help of another person.

Just thinking about a stranger touching him without him being prepared for it made something ugly unfold in his chest. He killed people for less.

But he hated the clinical way the doctors had used to touch him the most. It made him feel disjoined from his body. Like he was someplace else and his body belonged to another, far away. Ever since then. Ever since, he vowed to  _ never  _ save anyone. Because saving people always meant he got the short end of the stick. And what for? A torrent of gratitude, maybe even guilt-driven companionship until it all petered out into a void so deep and frozen that Wade’s own sensitivity shriveled to death. 

Still, he had needs. He was, believe it or not, only human.

The knock came when he was about to hit send on a long-ass comment to a politician’s Facebook post. The dirt he had on this gal was unbelievable— and funny as hell. He even attached photos.

He looked at the door, then back down at his tablet, doing that back and forth several times.

“Aw, fuck it.” He hit send and then went to open the door.

On his pink threshold, the one with a unicorn barfing a rainbow as his favorite comic book character, Deadpool, rode on it with his guns ablaze, stood a man a few inches shorter than him. He was slender in that way swimmers or runners usually were, and donned a pair of black, baggy pants, a black tee and a leather jacket which was hung over his left shoulder by two fingers. The other hand held a sports bag. He looked like he just came from the gym.

But the dark chocolate curls looked wind-swept over the top of the pointy mask. That— he actually forgot about, although he remembered reading that home services had every employee wearing a mask to keep their identity secret. 

This guy’s mask was a matte dark blue with faded grey webbing that Wade felt like touching just to see if they were drawn or printed on, and two huge, white eyes that turned pointy and a bit curled outside the round contour of the mask. But it didn’t cover the whole face. Wade had a nice view of plump, pale rose lips and a small, slender nose. The mask thinned over his cheeks, following his jaw and finishing in two sharp points just below the corner of his lips.

The material must have been something malleable and thin because it molded over the face like a second skin. He smelled of cold air and city fumes. From behind the hand that held the sports bag, a black helmet peeked.

“Did you ride your bike here?” Was what his mouth decided to say instead of a normal greeting.

Those plump lips stretched and the corners of his mouth were shadowed by the brackets his cheeks formed.

“Would that be a turn off?” 

His voice was the kind of voice Wade would pick up in a crowd: calm, eloquent and, above all, without any particular accent. But it amounted to just that. Nothing special or deep about it. He wondered how they’d do this—  _ if  _ this guy could even give Wade what he needed.

“It would if you tell me that you’re riding one of those classy bikes like Harley Davidson or some other shit.”

The quirk of his mouth didn’t let up. “What’s wrong with Harley Davidson? They’re classy, and sought after for a good reason.”

Wade scoffed and rolled his eyes before he stepped back and allowed him into his well-lit apartment. The guy sauntered in as if he had been there a million times already, and Wade couldn’t help but let his eyes trail over that pert ass that the baggy pants couldn’t even mask as the muscles shifted beneath the material. If anything, the roomy pants seemed to make that ass look even more alluring. The door closed and locked itself automatically as he followed the man barefoot into the spacious living room where he placed the bag down near Wade’s glass table.

“You chose to not have a contract from the get go and instead pay the fee at the end of the session,” he said when he turned around to face Wade, mere two steps separating them.

He didn’t smell of anything in particular, but then again Wade’s smells sense was not what it used to be. And it wasn’t something big like he couldn’t smell anything. It was more of a gradual fading. Some days it drew his attention like a paper cut would, while other days he didn’t even notice.

Wade was still studying him, trying to figure out how this skinny guy would manage to dom Wade. Or even turn him on. Yes, he had a body that would make Wade’s gaze linger, but that was not enough to get him going. Not anymore.

And to think that he used to be such an easy guy to please, to the point that just the batting of eyelids in that coy way women and men alike were capable of would have put Wade’s libido in motion.

Shiklah always rolled her eyes when he mourned the loss of that easy nature.

Maybe it was the age?

Or maybe change was indiscriminate no matter how stubborn Wade was.

Wade nodded. “I’ve never used a club for this, so I don’t know what to expect or even if it’s what I’m looking for.”

The man nodded, no judgment hanging on the corners of his mouth. Maybe Wade wouldn’t be against the idea of feeling those lips against his— just to see if kisses still felt the same as before. Or if he was going to not be able to stand that, too.

“Understandable,” he said. “It’s best for both parties involved if you pay for one night before you decide if it’s worth pursuing a more lasting agreement.”

The corner of Wade’s mouth twitched. Something about the way this guy spoke reminded Wade of how some business women talked; they tended to get too technical as if to make up for the fact that they were born with a pair of balls in the wrong place.

“So how are we gon’ do this?” Wade said, curious, but also a bit amused. It felt like he was taking part in a charade, even though he knew that this was something serious. It required trust, above everything else.

Maybe hooking up with a stranger, and a Dom nonetheless, hadn’t been the brightest idea he could have. But Shiklah had been on his case since the last Christmas party when his one night stand turned into a disaster. She pointed out that his distrust of people would make him die alone— or get stabbed in the back.

The idea of a BDSM club that also offered home services was convenient to Wade’s situation, she had droned on. It was safe and discreet, and they were professionals. And then she went on about how ‘one night stands are not cutting it for you anymore, you need something more stable than that’.

And she was right. One night stands had been  _ the thing  _ back in his youth when he could have mind-blowing sex without the commitment. Then he branched into BDSM and he stayed on that track ever since. It also helped that Shiklah and Death (he never managed to find out her true name with all the connections he had in his pockets) had been his first mentors. And patient enough to help him explore that submissive side of his.

Now— one night stands didn’t cut it for him anymore. The meet, talk, have sex, cleanse, repeat left him raw, dispassionate, and tired. So he stopped. But his sex drive didn’t.

“First, we need to set some ground rules for both our safety and enjoyment.” Wade nodded, waiting for him to continue. “How many times have you subbed?”

“About as many times as I have fingers and toes.”

“How long ago?”

Wade opened his mouth, but memory stayed his tongue. He shifted his weight on the other foot and his thumbs hooked into his cashmere pants’ pockets.

“Two years ago— give or take.” His voice scraped over the words and he had to clear his throat.

He glanced at the man to see his reaction, but he only got a nod of acknowledgement and nothing more. The mask was starting to become troublesome. Wade was the best judge of character out there. With a job like his, it was a must. So that level of secrecy from a guy he just met didn’t sit the right way with Wade, but he had been fully aware of this aspect when he signed up on the site and ordered the ‘Preview Package’.

This was the preview— only it was like those sneak peek trailers that only left you disoriented and with a lot of unanswered questions.

“Have you used safewords during those times?”

Wade nodded.

“Please answer verbally.”

“Yes, always.”

“Did you ever have to use your safeword with your partner?”

“Partners,” Wade corrected, and the man cocked his head. “I had two stable partners, female, not at the same time, though I wouldn’t have minded having a threesome with two hot Dommes.” He smirked. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I never had to use it. They knew my limits and never pushed beyond even when I begged. It was all kinda vanilla, if you think about it. What’s sex without a bit of adventure, right?”

The man’s nostrils twitched twice, and Wade had no idea what that meant until he saw the flat line that his mouth was set in.

“A Dom or Domme’s job is, first, to ensure that his or her sub is safe at all times during the scene, and then that the sub is taking pleasure from being dommed as much as the Dom takes pleasure from having a sub submit to him or her  _ willingly.” _

The words were familiar. Shiklah used to chastise him every time he pushed for more. It hadn’t been that she couldn’t go beyond his limits, he later realized, it had been that her emotional state was as important as his, and to have the scene go wrong and Wade to suffer afterwards would have had a serious backlash on her, emotionally.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. Went too far there.”

“Apology accepted.” He sounded as if he didn’t expect Wade to apologize so quickly.

He wouldn’t have, years ago.

“What is your safeword?”

“Thanos.” That made the man pause, and Wade grinned. “One’s biggest rival is bound to turn anyone off. Unless you’re into that whole hero vs. villain stint.”

The pause stretched. “Fair enough. Mine is May.” Another pause in which Wade felt himself being scrutinized, though he couldn’t see more than the faint shadow of his eyebrows. “Hard limits you don’t want me to try to ease you into.”

“Hard no’s: blood, watersports, cross-dressing, and face slapping. Medium no’s: shibari, flogging, ass slapping.”

“What do you mean by medium no?”

“I could try that, but only if I trust you enough to want to push that limit,” Wade replied honestly. Experience taught him that it wouldn’t do anyone good to keep things from a Dom, no matter how small and annoying they sounded to him. “As you can see, I have a skin condition. And much physical contact is a no-no. I can bear with more, but I don’t want to.”

“You shouldn’t,” he blurted out. “You should never do or say anything that you don’t want to or feel when you’re with me.”

Wade studied his masked face for a long time, re-labeling this person as he found out more about him with each sentence out of his mouth.

“Soft limits.” His voice softened a bit from the business-like tone he had used.

“Gags, plugs, restraints. I want to decide what kind of restraints you’ll use, if we’re reaching that stage tonight.”

“Of course.”

“What about your limits?”

His lips stretch into a pleased smile. “We agree on the hard limits: no blood play, watersports, cross-dressing and face slapping. To that, I’ll add no humiliation of any kind, gags, straitjackets, asphyxiation or choking, and roleplaying.”

“Aw, really? No gags or roleplaying? Are you sure I can’t change your mind on those?”

He placed a hand on his hip as if he was giving Wade an unimpressed look. It was difficult to be sure what with the mask covering his eyes. “I’ve only ever tried those two things a couple of times with different partners, but it never made me feel like it added to the enjoyment of the scene. We’re already filling in roles, but more than that I like to focus entirely on my partner rather than try to maintain a role or block his or her moans. I draw pleasure from hearing how much my partner enjoys what I’m doing to them.”

Wade mirrored his smile with a smirk. “Well, if all goes smoothly tonight you won’t have to worry about me not letting you know how good it feels.”

“Good.” The smile turned into a smirk. “I like my partners to be vocal. Besides, it didn’t look like you had any neighbors, so we don’t have to worry about complaints.”

Wade huffed, starting to like the way his possible Dom unfolded, revealing more of his personality that Wade couldn’t gauge with that mask on.

“So we agree on dirty talking being a thing.”

The Dom’s smirk became sharp and predatory. “That, we do.” But then it lessened in intensity. “You mentioned your skin. Is there anything else I need to know about it like what to do and what not to do in a scene?”

Wade thought about it. It was a question he hadn’t taken into account, even though it was a big thing to him. Points to this young Dom for his perceptiveness. 

“Never touch me without my permission, and never in places I can’t see unless I tell you to.” The man nodded, avidly taking the information in. “If I do consent to you touching me, don’t stay in one place for long and no scratching. I can tolerate pressing and dragging with your fingertips, but no nails. And if anything we use to cover my skin gets to be too much, you’ll have to hand me one of those yellow and blue tubes—” He jutted his chin towards the granite island at the edge of which two long tubes sat. “Or apply it yourself if I tell you to.”

“You’ll use your safeword in that case.”

Wade shook his head. “No. It’s not something that will make me want to stop the scene.” He paused, thinking about it. “It’s more like a break. I need to take care of the itching or stinging before it gets too much and takes me out of the scene.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on it. Are those the only ones I need to use?”

“Well, I have them all over the place, so you can easily get to them.”

They both fell quiet, watching the ointment tubes.

“So what should I call you? I take it you, too, prefer to be referred to as Sir, right?”

He nodded. “When we’re in the scene, yes, you may address me as only Sir. Outside of it, you can call me Peter.”

Wade lifted an eyebrow. “Is that your real name? No Mr Handsome or Pert Ass?”

The smile stretched once again. “One of my real ones. Aliases are tiresome, and I always forget them. But don’t worry, you won’t find my personal information in the agency’s data logs.”

Wade grinned. “Really?”

The smile didn’t diminish. “I’m good with computers, so yes, really.”

“Hmm, I didn’t know that my Dom is a nerd on top of being a professional swimmer.”

“Since when does knowing my way around a computer equate to me being a nerd?”

“And you also went to Harvard.”

“St—” But he stopped himself abruptly, which piqued Wade’s interest.

“What was that?”

Peter shifted his weight on his left foot, the atmosphere shifting with him. “Undress.”

Just like that Wade toppled over into his submissive state without a hitch. He was discarding his lounge pants, having already done away with his soft tee, when he realized what he was doing. He straightened up and threw Peter a slightly confused look.

“Perfect,” Peter said under his breath and stepped languidly closer to Wade, cocking his head this way and that way.

Then he stepped to the side, inspecting him. He did the same on Wade’s other side, all the while he followed him with his head. Peter never came round his back like one usually did in such a situation, and Wade didn’t know how he felt about that. He leaned in a bit, just enough that Wade could feel the warm breath on his collar bone, and inhaled the fading scent of his shower gel. He wrecked his brain for the perfume it had, but couldn’t remember.

Peter hummed. “Cucumber.” That was right. That particular perfume was among the few Wade could stand. He liked it because it smelled fresh— and not that sweet. “It blends well with your natural body odour. It doesn’t overpower it. Can you still smell it?”

He shook his head. He hadn’t been given permission to speak.

Peter smiled. “I thought so.” He moved over to the other side of his neck, barely a few inches away from touching Wade, but all the while Wade felt the close proximity and the warmth that exuded from the Dom.

“You have permission to speak,” Peter said softly, almost a whisper, after an inordinate amount of time.

It startled Wade, since he had been so focused on the mask and trying to imagine what kind of expression Peter wore in that moment. If his eyes were closed or open; if his eyebrows were pinched in contemplation or completely relaxed.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Wade replied honestly.

“Mm, yeah.” 

And now Wade didn’t need to see Peter’s face to imagine the man closing his eyes and savoring— Wade’s rough voice.

He was getting to know Wade through his senses. 

The realization struck Wade in unfamiliar ways. It was such an odd thing to do, so early on, even if it was logical considering their situation and how they met. Still, neither Death nor Shiklah did this.

“You didn’t touch,” Wade said.

That had Peter lean back, his lips slightly ajar in surprise. “Do you want me to?”

Wade sucked in a breath and looked sideways. “No. Not yet. But you’re missing touch.”

Peter’s mouth curved. “Am I?”

Wade nodded. “You’re exploring me through your senses. Sight, smell, sound. Touch is missing.”

“Well, then let’s try to make our way up to that. Guide me to your bedroom. And from this moment on you’re not allowed to speak unless asked a direct question, understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Peter took his bag and they moved to the back of the penthouse where Wade’s red and black bedroom shared a wall with the bathroom. The walls were red, while the furniture, curtains and bed sheets were all black.

“Turn on the light and then draw the curtains. After that check the temperature for your comfort.”

Wade complied easily, finishing the first two tasks fast and turning on the temperature in the room to pleasantly warm on the panel next to the door leading to the bathroom. The way he liked it when he needed to be naked and not catch his death.

“Come here,” Peter said in that calm voice of his that Wade found it started to appeal to some deeper part of his brain.

He had made himself comfortable on the settee at the foot of his bed, reupholstered with plush bordeaux cushions, covered in satin. They were cool and nice to the touch and Wade occasionally fell asleep there.

“Kneel facing me.”

Right in front of his open legs, one of the plush cushions lay, waiting for Wade. Sadly, he'd lost a bit of his grace when kneeling, since it had been two years and some months. But when he looked at Peter he saw no displeasure in the curve of his mouth.

“Now, close your eyes and let yourself be guided by my voice. What I want you to achieve is a state of relaxation and comfort in my presence. I won’t move from where I am. Are you okay with that? Answer verbally.”

Wade pondered that, weighing the pros and cons and what it meant for him. 

“Yes, I am, Sir.”

“Good. Now close your eyes and relax your arms,” Peter said, his voice just the right balance between an almost-whisper and sandpaper grating over a surface. Wade did, a couple of fingers twitching and his back slouching slightly. “Imagine a warm liquid covers your shoulders like a blanket, slowly pouring down your back.” At that Wade straightened a bit, feeling the sensation of warmth that such a blanket could give him.

“Feel your muscles relax,” Peter continued, his voice vibrating in Wade’s ears in the best way possible as his breath and heartbeat slowed down, too. “Your mind is a calm lake. Nothing ripples across it. The moon is reflected in it as the sun disappears behind the jagged edges of the mountains.”

Wade pictured everything with vivid clarity. It was impossible not to, when the voice guided him with such soft, but sure notes. He didn’t doubt a word.

“Now lift your left hand and place it on my knee, to your left.”

Wade lifted his hand slowly, as if he was trying to break the surface of the water with it. Soon enough he touched something a bit rough and a bit soft and a bit hard, his fingers and palm curving around it, feeling the warmth it gave off— or maybe that was just his warm palm.

“How does it feel? You can speak.”

“It’s soft,” his own voice was a bit gravelly, “but rough if I press too much. It’s also hard, but that’s your knee, and I can also feel muscles, shifting.” The air was displaced as Wade heard Peter move.

“Very good.” The voice said, rougher than before, and closer— somewhere in front of his forehead.

“I—”

“Yes, you still have permission to speak freely.”

A peculiar vulnerability came over Wade when the thought he almost voiced bloomed into his mind. It felt like a boundary his Dom might not want to cross.

“I’d like to touch your face. Without the mask.” Peter said nothing. “I won’t look,” he continued, feeling as if he should make it clear that he wouldn’t go that far. “I’ll keep my eyes closed. I just— I want to at least  _ feel _ your face.”

Moments passed.

“Very well. You promise you won’t look.”

“I promise,” Wade said readily.

The muscles under his palm shifted as Peter leaned a bit back to presumably untie his mask.

“Put your hands up in front of your face, palms facing each other.” Wade did. “Wider.”

It was Peter who first made contact with Wade’s scarred left palm, and Wade brought his right on the other cheek, taking in the softness and slightly angular jaw and cheekbones. The light scruff tickled his palms, so he didn’t press too hard or dragged too fast. His thumbs followed the line of his jaw to his chin, and then dipped in the valley between that and the bottom lip, slowly making his way up, caressing the curved line of that lip. Only when he reached the corners of his mouth did he dragged one thumb across Peter’s full lower lip, while the other traced the fullness of the upper one.

They were soft to his sensitive skin. So soft, in fact, that he considered asking Peter to kiss him.

But he didn’t. He moved up, instead, tracing the bridge of his nose and then the slightly arched upwards eyebrows. Those, he didn’t like the texture of. Too rough and a bit prickly. His forehead wasn’t too big, and his hair was silky, just the way he liked it.

Through all of this, Peter stayed perfectly still, allowing Wade to do his thing. His breath was warm over his chin and neck, which told Wade how close their faces were, and how easily he was warming up to the idea of feeling those lips against his. He thought he’d feel the need to open his eyes, even a little bit to take a peek, but his eyelids were so heavy that he didn’t even make an effort. 

What he was surprised by, was the fact that as he continued to trace Peter’s features, he felt himself slowly coming to life, his breath coming on more heavily.

“What color are your eyes?” he whispered, thumbs returning to Peter’s lips again and again as if they constantly needed to be reminded of their shape.

“Blue,” came the quiet reply.

Wade grinned. “Such a clichè Dom.”

He felt Peter’s cheek muscles push back to allow for his mouth to stretch.

“This clichè Dom can put you under.”

The grin became sharp. “Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Then I want you to make me come without touching me more than once.”

Peter fell silent for a while, then turned his head and kissed Wade’s left thumb. Wade’s breath hitched, not expecting such an action from his Dom, but most of all not expecting to feel those lips mold and part slightly against his thumb. It definitely made Wade’s nether regions throb.

He waited for Peter to put his mask back on. “You can open your eyes now.”

It was a bit disappointing that the blurry image he had in his mind of Peter’s face was covered by the mask. Already, he was starting to forget how he had pictured Peter.

“Keep your palms over your knees,” he ordered, his mouth retaining the shadow of a smile. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself on any part of your body aside your knees, understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now feel my mouth on your neck, softly leaving a trail of kisses, warm and a bit wet, all the way up to behind your ear.” Wade was starting to close his eyes to better imagine those. “No, you are to keep your eyes on my lips throughout this.”

Wade’s eyes widened a bit, but did not say anything. He was curious to see how Peter could accomplish this challenge. Although something in his voice made Wade suspected that he never backed away from a challenge.

“I’m sucking a mark, gently, behind your ear. You shudder underneath me, breathy sighs escaping your wet lips. You’re still sucking my two fingers like it’s my cock.” Wade’s lips parted, staring unblinking at Peter’s lips. “You’re playing with your tongue, curving it around and in between my fingers, trying to distract me, and succeeding.

“You feel the weight of my body pressing you down into the mattress, our hips teasing each other with slow, undulating movements. We’re breathing hard, our lengths hard and leaking. Your right hand caresses my back, blunt nails digging in once in a while.” 

Wade’s breathing gradually becomes shallower as he felt himself hardening, that deep and never forgotten desire to touch and be touched in return by someone he implicitly trusted adding an edge to Peter’s vocal fantasy. His whole body was over-sensitive, and he swallowed, continuing to watch how Peter’s lips shaped words. Words about them both in an ideal state that they were not in currently.

“I press my hips down hard and you moan so deliciously that I want to eat you up right there and then. But I abstain. You’re still not there. You’re still coherent and demanding. I order you to place your hands above your head where I use the black satin sheet to restrain them. At any time you can break free. But you don’t.

“You want to be there, bound and at my mercy. You want to struggle against those weak restraints because you know how much I like it when you struggle. You know how weak I am to your begging, so you beg. Loudly and lewdly. And it almost breaks my resolve. You’re there, served on a silver platter for me to savor you to my heart’s pleasure.”

He was impossibly hard by that point, little breathy sounds escaping him as his fingertips pressed into his knees. He was not allowed to touch himself. The leaking pre-come was so maddening, slowly pouring down his length and gathering in the nestle of his dark pubic hair before continuing onto his balls.

He shifted, relieving a bit of the pressure on his calves. That was when Peter leaned forward, his hand almost touching Wade’s face, but he stopped himself just before that happened. Wade blinked several times. He made an inhuman effort not to glance up at the milky white eyes of the mask.

“So good,” Peter breathed out, his voice a caress over Wade’s skin. “So perfect and so beautiful. Your willing submission has already made me hard. You can look.”

With another blink Wade’s gaze lowered only to see the tent Peter’s length made underneath the material. He bet half his company’s actions that it maddened and aroused him even more whenever the pants dragged over it. He wished he could take him in his mouth. Water pooled, and he had to swallow as he throbbed, leaking more profusely now.

“So good,” he repeated, still a touch above a whisper. He didn’t go back to lean against the cushions, instead he remained half a palm away from Wade, as Wade was starting to lose control over his breath. “You feel so good, my precious sub,” he said, voice rough and uninhibited, as if he was already inside Wade. “Your moans, high pitched and wanton, make me unbearably hard as I suck you off. I play with your length, letting my tongue caress your sensitive skin before I start playing with your tip.”

He gasped when Peter licked his lips, slow and deliberate, and he wanted to curse but he was not allowed to talk, so he conveyed that into a soft whimper.

“You know you’re not allowed to come until I say so, which is why I take my time, slowing down and letting the tip of my tongue explore your head, tracing first around it, feeling the texture, making you tremble with desperation. You want to come in my mouth so much that you’re sobbing.”

He whimpered, feeling that desperation as if he was underneath Peter’s ministrations, being tortured by his tongue. He was not aware of the tip of the finger that slowly caressed the tip of his length.

“Then I dip the tip of my tongue inside, moving about, slow, so slow, before I flatten my tongue over it, dragging it up and down, up and down,” Wade’s body swayed with the words— the finger— “up and down until I drag you into my mouth and suck once, and you explode—”

Wade did. His real orgasm slamming through him out of nowhere and leaving his mouth hanging open in a silent cry. His breathing was so harsh that he couldn’t hear his Dom’s reassurances through the rush of blood in his ears.

“You did so good, my perfect, gorgeous sub,” Peter continued saying, still a palm away from Wade, a pleased smile cresting his lips. Wade couldn’t help but mirror it with a weak one of his own. “How do you feel?”

“Like you wrung out my orgasm.”

Peter chuckled, and Wade wanted to envelop himself in that sound and never leave.

“I’ll fetch a towel. Will you be okay alone for a few moments?”

Wade was still dazed, his brain a cotton field in summer. Everything was so slow, but he managed to nod.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Need to stretch my legs, though.”

Peter smiled. “You’re free to move around. Our scene ended.”

He wasn’t going to be told twice as he laid down on his bed, hands at head level, tracing lazy shapes with his eyes on the white ceiling. He didn’t even twitch when Peter kneeled at his side, but he was forced to focus on him when his masked face came into view, a wet towel in one hand.

“I’m going to clean you off, okay?”

“Okay,” Wade said, and placed his hands beneath his head to watch Peter do just that.

He would have found the sight a bit off-putting, if he weren’t so dazed and comfortable where he was. If anything, he could barely string two thoughts together— enough so that he knew what he wanted next.

“In the package I signed up for it said that if we’re both okay with it you could spend the night here.”

“Yes, it did.”

“Would you like to spend the night here?”

Peter stopped and Wade dragged his gaze to his masked face from where he was watching the hand move the towel carefully around his flaccid length.

“Are you sure you’re okay with— I mean, I usually prefer to give a session of cuddles until my sub is halfway asleep before I leave, but you said that your skin—” 

It was the first time Wade heard Peter trail off instead of being the eloquent man that sauntered into his apartment. True to his word they weren’t scening anymore. It piqued Wade’s interest, this side of Peter.

“The no touching rules still apply,” Wade said, studying Peter’s mask. “But I don’t want to be alone right now. As I’ve said, it’s been two years since my last scene. I’m not comfortable with cuddles right now, but I’m not against sharing my bed with you.”

Peter stayed silent, and again Wade wanted to know what kind of expression was hidden behind the mask. He wanted to gauge his state of mind from the microexpressions. But he couldn’t. It irked him.

“Okay, I’m more than happy to provide as much or as little comfort as you need. And you’re right. Since it’s been so long, you might be more prone to drop than a sub in a stable relationship.”

Wade nodded as he got up and they made themselves comfortable beneath the cool, smooth sheets. There was half a forearm space between them, but they both laid on their sides, facing each other.

“You didn’t come,” Wade said when the thought struck him.

“No, but it’s okay. I already cooled off.”

Wade’s eyelids kept dropping as he fought with himself to not fall asleep.

“Can give you a handjob ‘morrow,” he slurred, losing the fight with his eyelids.

Peter huffed as Wade moved his hand until he found Peter’s elbow, then made his way up until his fingers curled around Peter’s wrist.

“Thank you, but I won’t be here when you wake up.”

“Too honest. Y’r s’ppos’ to say tha’ y’ll be ther’.”

Maybe Peter said something after that or maybe Wade dreamed it, but true to his word, when he woke up he was alone, Peter’s place cold, and the white envelope containing his fee gone.

***

“You’re in an awfully good mood today,” Shiklah pointed out when she entered Wade’s office and found him sprawled on his red couch listening to the  _ best  _ the 90s had to offer. 

Like MC Hammer.

His foot moved to the upbeat rhythm of it as he alternated between humming and singing the lyrics.

She simply shook her head as she deposited four folders on his desk.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?”

Wade jumped up from the couch, a huge grin on his face as he made his way towards her.

“For once, I took your advice.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You’ll have to be more specific. I give you a lot of advice.”

“No, you give me orders. This one was actually advice. See? Tough love doesn’t work with me. You gotta take me soft and careful, wrap me in blankets and then gently place me down on the bed.”

“Our shared past disagrees.”

He leafed through the folders, opening them randomly and skimming a page here, a page there as she faced his half-bent profile.

“No, that doesn’t count.” He intentionally left a pause there, feigning interest in the parameters for the next prosthetic project that they were looking to invest in. “I was asking for those punishments.”

He saw her hesitation, the way she opened her mouth and closed it in contemplation.

“You called them.”

He grinned. “I have an unusual Dom— different from how you were. Softer, in a way, but I don’t feel like I can get away with anything.”

Her eyebrows climbed on her forehead. “You don’t say. I thought you’d close the door on that chapter.”

He snorted. “As if I could. Ever since you showed me the ropes, it’s like usual sex doesn’t cut it anymore.”

“So you’ve become addicted.”

“Wouldn’t say that. Curious to see where it goes, more like.”

“Huh.”

The way she measured him up as if she was seeing him in a different light pleased him. Ever since the incident, he refused to look her in the eyes when they conversed because it was difficult to not see the remorse and pity there, barely hidden. But he had come a long way from then.

“What’s her name?”

His grin turned sharp. “Him. Peter.”

“Hm, don’t think I met him at the club.”

“He came in a mask.”

That had her attention again. “And you let him dom you without seeing his face?”

Wade shrugged, poring over the schematics of the prosthetic; a new prototype that would reduce the amount of physio an amputee needed to get used to it. 

“He let me touch his face.”

“I’m not sure I know who I’m talking to anymore,” she said and made him look up at her.

He fluttered a hand. “Just a detail.”

She snorted and walked away. “The devil’s always in the details.”

“And I keep telling you that your predictions work better when they’re business-related.” But she closed the door behind her before he got halfway through the sentence. “Rude.”

He took a seat in his ergonomic chair and hummed as Bonnie Tylor came on, pulling the folders in so that he could study them better.

***

The hems of the black satin bathrobe were an off white, and the cordon fastened around his Dom’s fist made a nice contrast with Peter’s lightly tanned skin. Wade noticed this when he first came to his place, that even though he wore all black, his skin wasn’t as white as you’d expect from a New Yorker. Maybe his Dom wasn’t exactly from New York— or maybe he spent a lot of time in the sun.

He was ordered to keep his head lowered, wrists crossed at his back as he waited for Peter to emerge from the bathroom. Since he stopped a mere step from Wade’s knees, he took in the palm wide crack in the robe and the peek of his knuckles covered by the cordon. Again, his Dom smelled of almost nothing except the faint whiff of detergent that came off of the bathrobe— Peter’s, not Wade’s.

“Keep your head lowered,” he ordered in that calm voice of his that Wade was coming to associate with an invitation for his brain to go pleasantly quiet and cottony, “I’m going to move to your side and tie your hands behind your back. Are you okay with that? Nod or shake your head.”

Wade nodded, then followed Peter’s bare feet as they moved to the periphery of his vision. He had bony, long feet, the phalanges travelling up towards his ankles pushed against his skin whenever his feet tensed with as simple an action as moving the leg above the feathered carpet.

The bathrobe cordon whispered softly against his skin as his Dom efficiently looped it between his wrists without touching Wade’s skin and then tied the edges. He’d asked Wade what type of restraint he preferred and that had been his choice. There was something tantalizing in using the cordon instead of the several restraints Peter had showed him from his sports bag. As if they hadn’t planned all of this; as if they were feeling frisky in a place they didn’t think they would and had to make do with what was available.

Anticipation was making his stomach butterflies dizzy.

“Move your hands down, palms facing each other and feel the tie,” Peter ordered and Wade complied, his fingers coming into contact with loops, a knot, then the short bits of the cordon. “If it gets to be too much during our scene, at any point, you’re allowed to untie your hands without asking me. Understood? Nod or shake your head.”

Wade nodded again, letting go of the bow his Dom tied, and relaxing into the first restraint they were using.

“Today I want to ease you into kneeling at my side with your back towards me.” Wade’s heart skipped a beat at the prospect, but the alarm came like an echo of an echo. He was conscious that he wasn’t quite comfortable with that idea now, but he was also curious to see if he could do that, and for how long. “Since it is a rather long scene, we will take breaks from you kneeling so that you won’t lose feeling in your legs.”

Wade remained silent, letting his Dom’s voice wash over him, even the silence that followed.

“Do you have any requests or anything to add to that?” The easy tone of voice came unhurried and soothing.

Since it was only the second time they were seeing each other, Wade found it reassuring that Peter asked for his input and didn’t just assume that his plans for the night were the best for Wade. That was something only a long, stable relationship could give to a Dom.

“I’d like to suck you off, Sir,” Wade said, keeping his tone calm and not like his heart was rabbiting in his chest.

He stopped giving head after the incident. He also stopped subbing, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to sub as perfectly as he did before what with his skin being in the condition it was.

His Dom was silent for a while. “Is it because you feel you need to make up for last time?” he asked softly and neutral.

Wade opened his mouth, but closed it just as fast. 

“There is no need for you to do something you’re not comfortable with just to satisfy me. What we are doing here is for your pleasure. Mine is only second to that. I’m here because you want somebody to make you feel cared for and secure.”

“No,” Wade said and looked up at his Dom, forgetting, in the heat of the moment, that he had not been ordered to break his position, “I don’t think I owe you a blowjob. I just want to blow you because that would give me pleasure. I always liked giving head, so I want to try and see if it’s the same as before. Or if—”

He trailed off, letting his head lower a bit in contemplation of his own words. No matter how he turned them, they always rang true. That was how he honestly felt about it. He only hoped he managed to convey that through his words alone. He was good with words and negotiations (even though most of them involved a gun of some kind and blood), but he was doubting those same skills in the situation he was in.

What he was doing with Peter was different than what he had with Shiklah and Death. They’d been friends with Wade for a long time before they started to dom him— before he realized that subbing was what he craved, actually. 

With Peter it felt as if Wade was learning again how it was to be a sub and what it meant to have a Dom that put Wade’s pleasure above himself. Not that Shiklah and Death hadn’t done that, but back then he had been more into kinky and edgy sex than slow and tender— whatever this was.

“Very well,” Peter’s soft voice came, “I will allow you to suck me off, but I will be the one to decide when. Anything else?”

“I like to kneel when my Dom feeds me.”

Peter nodded. “We’ll take a break before that. Anything else?”

Wade shook his head. “That’s all.”

“Very good. Now, for the punishment of you breaking my order—” 

Wade went perfectly still before he swallowed. His mind went through an array of punishments he had gone through when he knowingly broke an order or seven with his previous Dommes. None of which would be something that Wade would want to try right now, because they all required skin contact of some kind— and he wasn’t quite there yet.

“We will push your kneeling limits,” he stated, and this time his voice did sound firm and resolute.

Wade was not allowed to argue with that.

“Turn around and face the couch,” he ordered.

_ It’s a settee,  _ Wade almost uttered, but he kept his lips sealed and did as he was ordered. Peter made himself comfortable on the settee — legs bracketing Wade in without touching his skin anywhere and giving him a full frontal view of his slightly tanned skin. He could see the difference because his skin was a shade lighter around his crotch and hips.

He swallowed heavily at the way the black satin robe settled over Peter’s skin, how it covered his right nipple, but only shadowed the left one, how the white hems creased a bit around his hips only to straighten out over his thighs, the corners of the bathrobe hanging over the inside of his knees. The whole casual posture, as if his Dom’s only intention was to relax, and the nonchalant way the robe covered him only served to frame the important bits. Wade’s mouth watered at the sight. It only took him a glance up to see the quirk of one corner of his Dom’s mouth and think,  _ little minx, _ though there was certainly nothing little about what Wade’s eyes kept returning to.

“How are the restraints? You can speak.”

“Good. Not too tight and not too loose.” He checked them as he spoke and found them perfect.

“Good. How was your day at work?”

The question jarred Wade from staring at his Dom’s crotch. Peter waited, looking perfectly calm and in his element, as if this was his bedroom, his apartment and Wade was not paying him for his services.

Maybe in another reality they were— a couple. Maybe they were even in love, which yeah, obviously if they were a couple. But maybe in that reality he was his normal self— before the incident, and he could cuddle his Dom and be cuddled by him until his arms fell asleep or he needed to pee. And maybe, in this perfect reality, his Dom who had gorgeous blue eyes and the strength of a thousand men, could play Wade like a fiddle and they could experiment with all sorts of toys and positions and— 

“Wade.” The firmness in that voice broke through Wade’s deep thoughts. He jolted slightly. “You were zoning out,” Peter pointed out, leaning forward as if in worry. “What happened?”

“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”

“Want to share?”

Wade shook his head. “Just a silly thought. Anyway, my day was boring. Papers, meetings, plans, etc. etc. Nothing worth talking about. How about you?”

Peter relaxed back on the plush cushions and Wade’s gaze stole down at his dessert.

“Work’s experiencing a bit of downtime. But it’s normal for this time of the year.”

“Do you work only as a Dom escort or do you have another job?”

“Only as an escort,” Peter replied, amused.

“What?”

“You said Dom escort.”

“Aren’t you?”

Peter huffed. “It’s true that I like domming, but I don’t always do that.”

“So you don’t have like a department that specializes in all kinds of kinks and BDSM scenes?”

Peter chuckled and shook his head. “We offer a wide array of services, starting from being just a plus one for people that need one in a pinch to what we are doing now.”

“So you’re also an arm candy.”

He huffed again and shook his head as if in resignation. “If my client wants me to be, yes. Though I prefer to keep to the club and, more recently, home services.” 

“This is the first time you went to someone’s home to dom them?” Peter nodded. “How come you never did this?”

“Mostly because I like the atmosphere at the club and I find it easier to dom people there.”

“What do you mean? You brought the sub out of me within a couple of seconds after we laid down the rules.”

“Well, that might be just you,” he said, teasing. “You’re more in tune with your sub than the average person.”

Wade grinned before he moved on to the next question. “So you only took one contract at a time?”

Peter shook his head. “When you’re in the club you don’t take contracts. It’s between you and the sub for how long you want to stay in each other’s company. Some want to go through several Doms a night to be satisfied, others simply want to cuddle and talk about their problems. I’ve had all kinds of people.”

“So why did you decide to go for home services?”

He paused here. “I was told that there was a client that matched my preferences in a sub almost 100%. I was curious.”

Wade let that settle in as he explored the meaning of it.

“So your club specializes in BDSM.”

Peter huffed and shook his head. “It doesn’t. Didn’t you explore the site?”

“I was only interested in the Dom part, nothing more.”

“Of course you were,” Peter said, the amusement clinging to his voice.

“Where did you get the tan?” Wade asked without preamble. “NY only had sparse sunny days the last couple of months.”

His lips quirked. “So many personal questions.”

“We signed a long-term contract, didn’t we? It’s only fair that I want to know more about my Dom.”

Peter nodded, but fell silent for a while. “One of my previous clients took me to Greece as his plus one for three weeks last month.”

“So you’re not bound to the city.”

“We are, but we can make an exception with the VIP clients who have been with us for more than five years and had no strike on their membership.”

“Strike?”

He nodded. “A strike happens when the client behaves inappropriately with our employees.”

“That’s very vague.”

“It’s a way of saying that if you make an employee feel threatened or uncomfortable at any point and you don’t correct your behavior after you are made aware of that, the employee has the power to put a strike on your membership and demote you to a lower level.”

“Isn’t that too much power for a simple employee?”

“The strike is then taken under revision by our board of top members where it is decided if it will come into full effect or if the employee has made a rash decision.”

“Will the employee be punished if he makes a mistake?”

“No, not if it’s an innocent mistake and not something born from malice or misplaced sentiments.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

Peter smiled. “Don’t worry, we have our methods.”

“Has anything like that happened before?”

“Not since I was employed. Besides, we reserve the right to choose our clients. Not everybody gets in, no matter how influential they are.”

“Then why was I allowed in?”

Peter fell silent, cocking his head a bit. “I… don’t know.”

It wasn’t always that Peter let himself sound so unsure, and even though they were still in the middle of their scene, that conversation felt like a break from their respective roles. And the fact that he hesitated when giving his answer told Wade that Peter wasn’t privy to everything that moved around in the agency, even though Wade was inclined to believe that by the way he spoke.

So Peter either didn’t know about Wade’s checkered past or he hadn’t been a part of that decision— whatever that meant.

“So you’re not on that board of people who decide the fate of the world?”

Peter huffed. “I’m one level below that.”

Wade hummed as he shifted his weight on his legs.

“How are your legs?” Peter’s Dom voice came back as his attention was pulled by Wade’s movement.

“Falling asleep.”

“Skin?”

“Getting itchy behind my knees.”

“A little bit more and then we’ll take a break.”

They both fell silent, Wade’s gaze not distracted by Peter’s crotch anymore as he was more interested in studying his mask. The contract specified that Peter could take the mask off any time he wished; that it wasn’t imperative for their meetings. Yet Peter kept it on.

“Why do you wear the mask?” Wade asked in the lull of their conversation as he cocked his head. “You’re not required to keep it on at all times.”

Peter placed his elbows on his knees. “Maybe I don’t want my sub to be distracted by my face.”

Wade lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “Your subs must be easily distracted if that’s all it takes.”

His lips stretched with a barely contained grin. “By ‘my sub’ I mean you.” Wade leaned back a bit, frowning because he didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean. “I only take one sub contract at a time inside or outside the club.”

“Why’s that?”

“I like to devote my full attention to only one sub for as long as the contract is in effect. It’s the most important policy I have.”

“So that means that right now I’m your only sub?”

“Yes.”

Huh.

And what was Wade supposed to do with the frolicsome butterflies in his stomach? He wanted to call Peter out and tell him he didn’t play fair, but Wade kind of asked for it. 

“Besides,” Peter continued, a smile playing on his lips, “I know how important it is in your line of work to know how to read people, which is why I want to make the distinction between work and pleasure evident. I’m here to offer you pleasure, not have you try to anticipate my every move.”

Wade grinned, suddenly and with all his teeth. “You’re afraid I could beat you at your own game.”

Peter leaned further down until Wade could feel his warm breath on his chin and lips.

“Only if you know how to read a poker face,” he said, a purr that went straight to Wade’s groin since it was laced with a clear challenge.

“I accept your challenge.” Wade breathed out, the desire to taste those lips reaching an almost unbearable height— just as his legs were.

His hands strained a bit against the cordon, his shifting weight not helping with relieving pressure anymore.

“Please,” he found himself uttering, the first he begged.

“Bow your head and stay still, pet,” Peter said instead, and Wade complied.

It took his mind off of the conversation and onto the needles in his legs, and hands. It was starting to become unbearable, especially when he couldn’t move, although he had shifted his weight onto one leg only. It took his mind no time to turn into a loop of discomfort in his legs until he couldn’t feel his left one anymore, while the right one kept being assaulted by pins and needles.

“Wade, my lovely sub,” his Dom’s soft voice came. “Look at me.”

Wade opened his eyes as he pushed his face up, his eyelids at half mast.

“You did so well, my precious sub.” The adoration in his voice felt like a balm to his fuzzy mind. “I’m so proud of you. Your punishment has finished. You can come sit on the couch. Do you think you can bear my arms touching you?”

Wade made an effort to pull himself from the trance-like state in which he succumbed, to parse through his Dom’s words. He tried moving his toes, but only the ones on his right foot responded to his commands. At this point, he wouldn’t be able to lift himself up without at least a bit of help even if he wanted to.

“As minimal as you can,” he said, referring to how much touch he could handle at that moment.

“Understood,” Peter said, and slowly brought his arms around his torso, careful to not touch his palms to his skin.

It took a bit of effort from both of them to maneuver Wade into a sitting position on the couch, what with only one leg working and his hands bound behind his back. Peter took care to push almost all the cushions available behind him so that he could sit as comfortably as he could.

The only problem was the blood flow that was returning to his left leg along with the sensation in his leg and those hateful pins and needles. He wasn’t even aware of the fact that Peter’s palm had remained in the center of his back, forgotten there when he leaned a bit over him to arrange the cushions on his other side.

“Damn, I hate this sensation,” Wade gritted out through his grimace at his leg returning to his functional state.

“You did a wonderful job,” Peter said near his ear, slow and soft. “You went above your limit for me and for yourself. I’m so pleased with you!”

Wade looked at the mask and then at the smiling lips and not for the first time he wished he could see his Dom’s face.

“I want to suck you off,” he said bluntly. “Sir.”

It took Peter by surprise because he leaned back a bit. “I planned for you to eat after this break.”

“I want dessert first,” Wade retaliated. “Sir.”

Again, he added that as an afterthought and he knew the moment his Dom caught on that because he cocked his head as if that action belied a narrowing of his eyes. And yes, Wade wanted to see his face even more in that moment.

“Lean forward, pet,” he ordered after a pause.

Wade complied, and that was when his Dom took off the palm he had on his back. He frowned, mentally retracing the sensation back to when it began, rolling his shoulder a bit to look for that sensation of discomfort at having someone touch him without him being aware of it. Nothing of the sort came to him, which he found even weirder.

Peter untied his hands in a matter of seconds. “Bring your hands forward. I’m going to tie them and then you will lie on your side, head in my lap, facing me. Any issues with that?”

Wade thought about it, then shook his head. He didn’t comment when Peter helped him turn around and settle comfortably on his side with his head over his thighs. Nor when his fingers caressed his biceps, hard enough to not tickle, but soft enough to not hurt either. But that was mostly because his attention zeroed in on Peter’s groin where a soft cock was barely a thumb away from his face, bracketed by the hems of the bathrobe as the material covered his thighs so that Wade’s skin wouldn’t become itchy or sore.

“Are you comfortable?” Wade nodded. “Good, now what you have to do is coax me into full hardness without sucking me off.”

That was not how Wade envisioned he’d be doing that. He glanced up at the mouth, but he couldn’t read anything on it.

“Can you do that, pet?” Peter continued, and there was nothing in his voice that Wade could latch onto. “Or do you want to just relax before you return on your cushion?”

Wade shook his head as much as he could, and then scooted his head closer, smelling Peter’s muskiness. Experimentally, he gave his cock a lick— then another one, and another one until Peter leaned back, taking his hand away from Wade’s bicep and placing it in the free space between his hip and Wade’s bound hands.

Not wasting time, Wade got to work and teased Peter’s cock until it slowly started to fill up, and Peter’s breath became more urgent and less controlled. He used his tongue, mostly, but when he got tired, he put his lips to test and found that there was no discomfort to be had even if they were coated in saliva and Peter’s pre-come. It certainly made the friction easier and Wade wanted to try and play with his balls, too, but he couldn’t reach them from the position he was in, not without his Dom parting his legs— and that would make for an awkward and uncomfortable angle for his neck.

“Mm, such a tease,” Peter breathed out, and Wade pressed his tongue flat over the underside of his cock and dragged it all the way up to the tip. “Fuck.”

Peter jolted when the tip of his tongue dipped and played with the foreskin. He had to prop himself on his elbow, only then becoming aware of the fact that his hands were squeezing Peter’s between them, and that Peter squeezed back in tandem with how hard or soft Wade’s ministrations were.

“That’s enough, pet,” Peter said firmly, and Wade released the side of his cock that his lips were sucking on, the tip of his tongue teasing behind them.

He mourned the loss, shifting his legs as he panted slightly, from both the heady sensation that he unraveled his Dom so much in such a short time and from feeling his hardness drag across the tantalizingly smooth surface of the cushions.

It took Peter a minute or two to regain control over his breath and himself. All the while, Wade watched from further down his thighs, immensely pleased with himself and still craving more. He could do better than this. Now that he had a taste of it and made sure that he wouldn’t feel any discomfort at the drag of his lips over another’s skin, he was so ready to use his wicked mouth for such pleasurable purposes.

“How are your legs?” Peter asked, fully in control of his voice.

Wade flexed them and found them back to being responsive. “Recovered.”

“Good. For the next part, I will be feeding you and if you behave yourself, I will let you suck me off. I want you to go kneel on the cushion, but this time with your back to me.” Wade was already pushing himself up, but froze mid-motion and threw a guarded look Peter’s way. “Remember, you always have your safeword which you can use at any moment you feel you’ve reached your limit during our scene. Say that and the scene stops immediately.”

With a fortifying breath, Wade nodded and crawled back down on the cushion, settling in and trying to keep calm about the fact that now he couldn’t even see his Dom. He didn’t know what to expect next— where the blow would come from— 

“I’ll use my voice to tell you everything I’ll do before I do it,” Peter said. “Now I’ll go bring the plate of food from your right nightstand.” He did just that and Wade concentrated on his breathing, fingers flexing over each other as he kept his hands almost entwined in his lap. “You’re doing so good, love, just like that.”

Wade’s brain latched onto that word, that single, innocent word that sounded more like a slip of tongue than something consciously chosen for Wade’s continued stable state of mind. He didn’t turn around to look at Peter, but it was a near thing.

He heard Peter return. “I’m going to sit down and place my legs on either side of your body. I won’t touch you, but you are free to touch me or lean back at any moment. Understood? Nod or shake your head.”

Wade nodded. Warmth licked at his skin from Peter’s legs and the prospect of touch didn’t feel as daunting as it had when they started to scene. It was only after Peter started feeding him bits of grilled chicken that Wade began to relax and appreciate the cocoon Peter made around him.

“You’re doing so well, my pet. So good and perfect,” Peter said as he fed Wade and even allowed Wade to lick his fingers. “You’ve no idea how much your submission is affecting me, seeing you making an effort to trust me is making me even harder than before.”

Wade whimpered slightly as the words came on a rough tone of voice, right behind his ear. He had closed his eyes a long time ago and leaned against the edges of the cushions as his biceps were firmly pressed into Peter’s thighs.

He didn’t know when he started using the cordon to tease his cock into full hardness, but his breathing was coming in soft, short pants. His Dom chuckled, his breath fanning over Wade’s neck and collarbone and adding to the pleasure that was slowly pooling in his stomach.

“Naughty. You started without me.” He sounded more amused and aroused than put off that Wade took an action without asking him first. “This is the last bit,” he said, pressing the piece of chicken against his lips.

Wade took it fast, licking Peter’s fingers on their way out.

“So good. I’m pleased with you, pet. Now, stop teasing yourself and face me. It’s time you took your prize.”

The rough notes of his voice, coupled with the underlying Dom tone, had Wade comply readily as he repositioned himself. He was still bracketed by Peter’s thighs, and this time the sight of his Dom looking so hard and coated in pre-come made Wade’s cock throb and crave friction.

“You’re not to touch yourself while you suck me off or come before I say so. Place your hands on one of my knees. Any requests you have before we continue?” Even if he tried to use that authoritative tone of voice, he still sounded like he was hanging on by a thread, grasping at his control.

“Don’t touch my head, please,” Wade said, glancing up before his gaze returned back to his Dom’s groin. “You can touch my hands, but not any other part.”

Peter nodded. “Understood.”

And then Wade leaned forward and tasted his Dom’s pre-come, starting off by teasing his length with his tongue— taking his dessert in small amounts. He glanced upwards at his Dom and how he reclined on the hands that he planted firmly on the cushions.

“Next time, I want to do this without a mask,” he said as an afterthought and took his whole length in his mouth.

Peter sucked in a surprised breath and kept it in as Wade adjusted his tongue, relaxing his throat to allow for that last inch. There was a time when Wade Winston Wilson had a gag reflex.  _ Was _ being the operative word.

His Dom released the breath he had been holding in shuddering increments. 

“That feels so good, fuck, you’re so perfect.”

Wade would have smiled, if his lips weren’t otherwise busy, so he began a slow up and down drag, his tongue doing everything in his power to tease his Dom as much as possible. Not to mention that the sensation of sucking a cock and the erratic breathing of his Dom made Wade desperate to jack himself off, but he wasn’t allowed, so he only flexed his hands and sometimes grabbed for Peter’s thigh.

He turned his head this way and that way, pressing his lips at different intervals until he settled on Peter’s head. That was when he began using his tongue in earnest to try and take his Dom apart— if he could manage. He could feel the tremors in his thighs, how his muscles tensed and relaxed as Wade worked his tongue under his foreskin, teasing the tip in that maddening way that Wade knew it drove his partner up the walls.

Peter fought to keep his hips from thrusting up, but he couldn’t control them completely. Wade, on the other hand, didn’t even try to stop his from thrusting into the air, still aware, even though he didn’t want to be, of the fact that he couldn’t come before his Dom said so.

A few more twists of his tongue and Peter came with a silent cry into and on Wade’s mouth in long spurts, that dribbled down on the bathrobe. Wade leaned back and licked his lips, collecting as much of the come as he could reach, a cat-ate-the-canary grin spreading on his lips.

He watched Peter’s stomach go up and down as Peter breathed heavily, his mouth hanging open and a flush peeking from behind the mask.

Oh, Wade wanted more of that. More of satisfying his Dom to the point that he had to wait for him to regain control. 

“You… you did so well,” Peter said, leaning forward. “I’m beyond pleased with you, love. Now, open your mouth. I’ll let you suck my fingers while you use your restraints to bring yourself off.”

Wade perked at that prospect and opened his mouth to allow two of Peter’s fingers in. He started sucking them, first lazily as he coated them with saliva, but then in earnest as he jerked himself off using the cordon. This time he let himself moan as lewdly as he knew how, uncaring how wanton and debauched he looked like. He only mourned the fact that he couldn’t see Peter’s face.

Then he felt his balls draw in as the pleasure was threatening to spill over, doing that push-pull that he felt before— and he came with a drawn out moan, breathing erratically through his mouth when his body relaxed.

“So perfect,” Peter’s voice washed over him like a breeze of warm wind. “You were perfect, my little sub.”

He didn’t even notice the fact that both Peter’s hands were framing his jaw lightly as Wade slowly returned from cloud nine. When he opened his eyes, his Dom was smiling softly.

“I’ll go fetch a wet towel.”

He left to do that, and Wade calmed all the way down, before his Dom gently cleaned the come from his thighs and stomach.

“I want to cuddle,” Wade said out of the blue, which drew Peter’s attention.

“Of course.”

“You.”

That made Peter pause.

“I want to cuddle you. Not full on skin on skin— but… yeah, I want that.”

“Okay,” he said with a bit of reluctance. “If you’re sure you can handle that much physical contact—”

“I’m prepared to,” Wade said with determination and Peter smiled. 

They snuck under the black satin sheet that always covered his bed sheet and created a barrier of smoothness between his naked body and the cover. Wade rearranged it between his front and Peter’s back, knowing that their combined body temperature would make them sweat and stick together. But he twined their legs and gathered his Dom’s head in the crook of his elbow as he played with Peter’s hair. Peter went with all of it with only a light chuckle at the last part, and Wade trusted him to say if he didn’t feel comfortable with his requests. After all, Peter trusted Wade with the same thing.

He fell asleep with the warmth and weight of a body gently pressed to his front and thought that he never felt more at home and comfortable in his entire life.

***

“Hey man, Jerry’s here.”

Peter’s head perked up from reading Wade’s latest message at the name just to be greeted by Eddie’s shit-eating grin. 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for him.”

“Shut up, Eddie.”

They were in the employee only lounge where Doms took breaks and where they kept their personal belongings.

The room was big enough to hold twenty-six wooden lockers, most of them never used, a semi-oval black leather couch in the middle of the room facing the door, several multi-colored bean bags pushed towards the corner where the windows were and four restored Chesterfield couches that were clustered right next to the door. 

“What. Are you interested in buying something?” The grin intensified, even though Peter still found it oddly charming, in that rugged way that Eddie Brock was charming.

Not to mention that those princess lips were both hilarious when he puckered them, but also made Peter imagine how they’d feel if he were to bite them. Too bad that Eddie was such an asshole, even on a good day. He’d use anything against Peter. Which was why he kept the fellow Dom at a distance.

That didn’t mean that Eddie didn’t try to get under his skin whenever they met.

He plopped on the semi-round couch, jostling Peter. Eddie had a pair of baggy denims and his usual grey sweater. Thankfully, it was a clean one. Last time he came to work straight from the gym and Peter had to open the window to get the stink out. 

“So who’s the squirrel?”

“Not your business.” He stood up.

“Oh, but it is.” Eddie caught him by the wrist and dragged him back.

If looks could incinerate someone, Eddie would have been ash already.

“For how long are you gonna continue with this bullshit?” Peter said, his words coming out a bit raspy.

“For as long as it’s gon’ take you to stop being so full of yourself.”

They stared at each other, Peter still looking for that inner fire that would allow him to burn through that smirking face of his.

“Hey, Peter, check this out!” came Johnny’s enthusiastic voice, almost bursting through the door. “Jerry got me that leather harness with the fake diamonds on it! Look how cool this is!”

Peter used that opportunity to walk away from Eddie and his nonsense and inspect the harness Johnny proffered as if it was a tribute to a god.

“Feel the leather! It’s so smooth and flexible! Damn, I can’t wait to try it on in my next session!”

Unlike him and Eddie, Johnny was a sub and a new one at that, so he wasn’t allowed to give home services. It didn’t mean that he couldn't have a contract, but it would constrain both him and his Dom or Domme to scene there in the club. But Johnny wasn’t into contracts that much. He liked the freedom of choosing his Doms from the clients that frequented the club.

“Yeah, it really is smooth,” Peter murmured as he felt the harness.

“You gotta see the collection of collars! He brought new ones!”

And that was something that Peter didn’t know he was waiting to hear from Johnny.

“Is he still with Selina?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, as he already caught sight of Eddie and was side-stepping Peter. “Did you see this, Edie?”

Eddie, for his part, indulged him because he was only interested to see how his words affected Johnny. His teasing bordered on being a bit over the line. If Eddie offered, Johnny could accept to be dommed by him, but that also meant that Eddie would have to pay Johnny’s fee. 

And Eddie— seemed to have other plans with the money he received from dominating other people.

To Peter they felt like they were both walking towards each other on a conveyor belt set to roll in opposite directions.

But enough about other people’s business. He wasn’t the kind of guy who pried; he was, however, the kind of guy who couldn’t help but notice certain details. 

There were a lot of people flocking around Jerry while Jerry was enthusiastically showing off his loot.  _ His _ words. Peter took in the toys and the bondage gear displayed on the four tables pushed together. Some things like plugs, rings, and clamps were left in their respective suitcases, but harnesses and flogs and cuffs and others, were placed in neat rows all around the suitcases.

But what caught Peter’s eye was the collection of collars. Such a gorgeous variety and colour, accessorization and material. There was red, white, black, and brown, soft and hard leather, purple, black and white velvet, collars made of metal, collars with loops for accessories, and many others that Peter’s gaze only passed over.

Until it caught on a simple soft black leather that had a slightly v-shaped lower hem with a loop that fell right between his collarbones. And when he took it in his hand, the inside was velvet.

He thought it was perfect.

But he hesitated.

And then he caught Jerry’s knowing gaze.

***

“What kind of charity ball is this?” Peter asked as he was working Wade open with copious amounts of lube and three fingers.

Wade was panting and feeling like he was going out of his mind with want. They learned, after two more sessions, that he could tolerate cock rings and leather constraints, as long as they applied body oil on his skin beforehand, so that the restraints glided where they were fastened around his thighs.

“Something,” Wade panted, stopping to moan and try to move his hips but Peter’s hand, partly covered in oil, kept them mostly still, “about gathering funds for non-profit organizations in Africa. It’s like this huge fund that stinkin’ rich people throw money into just to feel better about their ugly selves.” More panting and whining. “I’m hosting it this year. Well, my company is, but you get the gist.”

Peter nodded, adjusting the angle from which he thrusted his fingers. “And what kind of personalities will be attending?”

Wade lifted an eyebrow, finding the specific questions odd, but his expression morphed back into that of desperate pleasure, the black padded cuffs keeping his hands bound above his head. “All kinds. Reporters, too.”

“How much do you socialize and what specific group of people do you like to talk to?”

He frowned. “What’s with all the questions?”

Peter took a breath as if to calm himself. “I like to do my research and be informed about the possible people I’ll meet at such a charity ball so that I can hold myself in a conversation. That is, unless you just want a pretty face to parade and nothing more.”

Wade opened his mouth and only moans came out as he tried to mull over what Peter said.

“No, I think I’d like you to keep your ground in a conversation.”

“I’ll want a list of their names after we finish.”

Wade nodded and Peter began thrusting in earnest, using his voice and a lot of filthy words that made Wade’s mind bloom in sexy images— all of them having his Dom’s face blurred. And then Peter unfastened Wade’s cock restraints and took him in his mouth in one go, which Wade didn’t expect because he came in his Dom’s mouth with a shout in under a minute and then took five more to gather the scattered mushy parts of his brain back in one place.

He relayed the information about the kind of people he usually conversed with and the kind of people that always pestered him for stupid small talk. Peter’s list comprised of two pages front and back with big names and he looked like he was trying to form a plan of attack. Wade found that cute. He was also curious to see how he’ll fare at the ball.

Actually, he was looking forward to see Peter in a different setting, filling a different role than he had filled, up until that moment.

He pushed the white envelope with his fee for last night and Peter looked at it as if he didn’t comprehend what it was and why Wade was giving it to him.

“Your fee,” Wade said after a while.

He jolted slightly. “Right.” And took the envelope with something like reluctance.

But Wade couldn’t read his damn face so he couldn’t be sure. He still refused to take it off, telling Wade that he needed to be patient for a little bit more. Usually Wade would’ve pushed for it, to the point of getting into a fight, but for some reason he didn’t feel like upsetting his Dom— or the balance they'd struck in their two-month old relationship. 

He had a feeling that gentle coaxing was the best way to go about it— just like Peter did with Wade’s distrust and skin condition. Actually, it was mostly the leaps they made that had Wade keep the brakes on instead of going full on asshole extraordinaire and demand what he wanted. There was something about Peter that managed to relax Wade’s guard and allow him in.

Something that was a must considering how Wade was and his line of work.

But if he couldn’t have him outside of the escort’s contract, then at least he’d make damn sure that he could have him inside of it for as long as he could extend that stupid contract. That meant that the envelopes needed to be there on the glass table before Peter arrived. 

***

“Hey, Peter,” Wade greeted, letting Peter in, as he hurried off to hang the three hangers with suits he had in his hands on one of the wooden square rungs that formed the green wall separating the hallway segment from the rest of the apartment. “Which one do you think would be better for the ball? Black, faded black or red?”

Even though the red one was burgundy in color— but that was too much of a mouthful for Wade, so he called it red. They were part of the same color group anyway.

“You know that there are other colors on the spectrum, right?”

Wade scoffed and fluttered a hand, but froze mid-motion. “Actually, I do have a pink suit I haven’t put on in a long—”

“Burgundy!” Peter said loudly, now closer to Wade’s side. “Burgundy looks perfect for the ball and your flashy personality.”

Wade turned a grin towards him. “Flashy—” And the words got stuck in his throat.  _ “Holy shit you’re not wearing the mask!”  _ he screeched as if he was just spoiled the ending of a movie he was looking forward to.

Peter smirked and Wade could finally see the way it creased at the corner of his eyes, and how blue his eyes were. And what lovely complexion he had. And how rakishly handsome that smile made him look. And how far gone Wade was that he couldn’t think of a single quip to fill the silence between them.

“Between your flashy suit and my mask, I believe we’ll be attracting too much attention. Besides, it will be twice as annoying to dodge questions wearing a mask as it will be just letting you parade me in front of the high society socialites.”

Wade frowned. “I’m not gonna parade you as if you’re an object I just acquired. You’re mine and— what I mean is that here you’re in charge of my safety and well-being, but out there where the wolves prowl, waiting to take a bite of the next victim, I’ll take care of your safety.”

And that was why he wanted to see Peter’s face so much— there was no mistaking the softness in his eyes and smile. And Wade  _ really  _ wanted to kiss him. Like right that instant.

“Say,” Wade began, unable to decide which one between Peter’s lips and his eyes he wanted to focus on. “I know we’re not gonna scene tonight what with the ball and all that jazz, but do you think we could kiss?”

That sounded less uncertain in his mind than it did spoken out loud.

Peter grinned close-mouthed. “I thought you were gonna devour me instead of asking for a kiss.”

“Yeah, well, we’re both big on conse—”

Peter grabbed Wade by the hem of his shirt and pulled him in, pressing his lips against Wade’s softly, at first, just tasting and trying to see in how many positions their lips could fit together. Then Wade’s tongue peeked from behind his teeth and prodded at Peter’s lips. It felt like a dam had been broken because the next thing Wade felt was the hard, cold wall against his back as Peter manhandled him with surprising force, pressing himself hard against Wade for several seconds, before he relented. 

Not his lips, though. He knew from their previous encounters that his lips were not as sensitive as most of his body, so he didn’t go gentle on them.

Oh, and how much Wade liked to be devoured to the point where both of them had to separate to take in big gulps of air.

“That was…” Wade tried to say between one inhale and the other. 

“Yeah,” Peter replied, in the same situation.

“I want more.”

Peter grinned, both still breathing hard, but they didn’t wait to calm down as again their mouths pressed and dragged against each other. Peter’s hands stayed on Wade’s neck for a while, before they moved to his covered shoulders, while Wade’s hand snuck beneath Peter’s tee, exploring his back and making his Dom undulate his hips against Wade’s growing erection.

They couldn’t seem to be able to stop kissing even though Wade felt his lips tingling from the constant friction. But he’d be so cross if Peter stopped.

One hand caressed Peter’s back, Wade delighting in the little moans that escaped through his nose, his hips now out of control as they grind down on Wade. Both their erections pressed against the material of their respective pants. He was about to ask where his bespoke suit was because his Dom was dressed like a bad boy who came riding on his black Kawasaki Ninja like usual, but then his hand snuck beneath the band of his pants and squeezed one perfect ass cheek.

Peter gasped in his mouth, his hips stuttering, and Wade was drunk on Peter’s body, Peter’s lips, Peter’s little moans, Peter’s lust-filled gaze, Peter’s smell— he hadn’t been this drunk since three months ago when Shiklah kicked his sorry ass home after the Easter party and his subsequent drunk fondling with a no-name.

“Harder,” Peter demanded in a whisper, his hot, wet breath fanning over Wade’s cheek as he left little kisses along his jaw and then down on his neck.

Wade moaned, his skin extra-sensitive.

They weren’t scening.

Peter didn’t go Dom on him, although there were little hints of his dominant persona in the way he kept Wade pressed against the wall and teasing his hard as nails dick.

But this was happening.

They were making out like horny teenagers and Wade was filled with a giddiness that was almost bubbling to the surface.

He pushed his other hand underneath Peter’s pants and started massaging his muscular ass in time with his thrusts. The moans that came out of his Dom’s mouth, right next to his ear, did  _ things  _ to Wade that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Again, Wade was torn between kissing the living daylights out of him and letting him sing that perfect song as Wade had his way with his ass.

But he quickened his kneading as he felt himself get close. It hurt. In the way that prolonged friction against a material that was not satin usually did. But it hurt in a way that heightened his pleasure.

“Come for me, Wade,” Peter said roughly into his ear and his orgasm felt like it was punched out of him.

Peter was panting heavily when Wade returned to himself and looking down between them he saw both pants sporting twin dark patches.

“Never thought I’d be able to come into my pants like a teenager at 40,” Wade commented and Peter laughed, a carefree, slightly rumbling laughter, that Wade felt under his palm when he placed it in the center of his chest.

Wade smiled from ear to ear as he drank the sight and sound of his Dom enjoying himself in. 

That was it. That was everything he wanted from a person— from a Dom.

There were no butterflies in his stomach, but his chest felt warm and kinda tingly, a sensation he had only ever felt when he got the flu. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with something. That would definitely put a stop to their sexy times.

“Where’s your suit?” Wade asked when they cooled off and Peter stepped back.

He was also trying to determine which of his own would fit Peter since he wasn’t as broad in the back as Wade was, and his suits were always bespoke.

Peter threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Placed it on the couch.”

Wade took him in, then looked down at his own pants. “We need a shower.”

“You go first.”

“Aw, why not go together? Y’know, like they say shower together, save a friend.”

His chuckles were like water to a parched man. Wade wanted to hear more of them— and see more of Peter’s laughing face.

“It’s save water, shower with a friend, you impossible man!” 

But Wade was advancing on him and sneaking his arms around Peter’s trim waist. 

“Pretty please?” He went for his puppy eyes arsenal, hoping they still worked even with the way he now looked.

Peter continued to chuckle, but danced out of his arms with a twinkle in his eyes. He placed a light hand over his biceps and pushed him in the direction of the bathroom.

“Go shower or we’re gonna be late!”

“They didn’t work even a little bit?” Now he was definitely pouting, as he was letting Peter push him. “My puppy eyes must be broken.”

“They worked fine,” Peter said, amusement still present in his voice. “I’m just made of a sturdier cloth and not letting you have your way. Come on, off you go,” he continued and slapped Wade’s ass cheek lightly.

They both froze— but for completely different reasons. Wade turned a wide-eyed face on him, and Peter looked like he was about to apologize, but Wade grinned.

“We’re definitely exploring butt slapping next!” Wade announced as he walked backwards, a warning finger pointed towards Peter.

“Go shower you mad man,” Peter said between chuckles, “before we’re late.”

Wade showered in record time, then let Peter have his time. The wide glass panes covering almost entirely his wall displayed a sea of grey and black buildings, and multicolored billboards as the city descended into the night. 

He didn’t turn on the overhead lights, leaving the standing lamps placed around the spacious living room to give off that warm glow that calmed and soothed Wade.

Since he had his suit there, he chose to get dressed in the living room. He was fiddling with the red sapphire cufflinks on his black satin shirt, having already put on red boxers and a pair of black socks, when Peter returned in only a pair of black boxers.

There was a twinkle in his eyes as he went to his sports bag.

“I was thinking…” he said, trailing off as he looked for something in there.

“See! That’s why I said we should shower together. You think too much when you’re in there,” Wade quipped as he unbuttoned the only button on his suit jacket to take off the trousers from the hanger inside.

The faded clink of something attracted his attention and he looked up at a smirking Peter and a string of four beads, while the other one held a small, blue tube of something. His brain fell into his boxers at once.

“Please continue to take long showers.”

Peter chuckled, and slowly bridged the distance between them. “I wonder if you can take all four of them. Bend over,” he ordered and a thrill shot up Wade’s spine at that.

“Yes, Sir!”

He placed his elbows on the back of the couch, between the two suits, and pushed his legs apart, anticipation building in his belly.

“We might not have time for a full scene,” Peter said softly, caressing Wade’s ass before he slowly pushed the band of his boxers down beneath his ass, “but we can  _ squeeze  _ these in, can’t we?”

Wade snorted at the pun and Peter slapped his ass lightly. He gasped before he wiggled his butt for more of that.

“Naughty sub,” he purred, bending over Wade as he felt two fingers coating his ring of muscles in the cool lube. “I should punish you for that.” He left it there as he pushed his fingers in and Wade released a shuddering breath, focusing on relaxing. “Yes, like that, my lovely sub,” Peter continued to purr in his ear, his free hand keeping his hip still.

It didn’t take long for Peter to be able to push in three fingers at once. Wade’s refractory period was around half an hour, so even if he felt his cock give a weak throb, he wouldn’t be getting hard any time soon.

Then Peter pushed the first lube-coated bead against his ring of muscles, slow and firm, and Wade gasped at how wide it stretched him.

“There you go, just like that, relax. Take it slow and steady. Well done, love!” he praised Wade when the first bead went completely in.

He was breathing hard already, and he sort of dreaded the fact that there were three more waiting. He already felt full. But it was nothing compared to how full he felt after the fourth pushed in. By that point Wade was panting like he had run a marathon.

“So good, my little sub. You did so well. I’m proud of you,” Peter purred in his ear, pushing his boxers back up, and already Wade’s brain was on the right side of cottony. “Now straighten up.”

He did and a whimper caught in his throat as that simple action moved the beads inside him. He had to concentrate on squeezing his ass so as to not push them out as his instinct was telling him.

“Holy shit!” He hissed and looked over to see a very pleased Dom that regarded him as if he was the main course and he had fasted for 40 days.

“Do you think you could bear the ball like this?”

Wade moved about, testing, and finding that he managed to maintain his posture and walk normally after a while.

“We need to work on your facial expression,” Peter said as he bridged the distance between them once again. “It wouldn’t do for you to look like you’re walking with a gun at your head.”

Wade snorted. “Baby boy, that’s the easiest thing to do.”

He didn’t realize he uttered the pet name until he saw Peter’s surprise. Either that or the implication of his words had Peter looking like that. Right. He didn’t know.

“Shit, look at the time!” Wade diverted and Peter snapped out from whatever trance he had fallen into.

They both dressed in record time. The limo was waiting for them in front of the building and the drive to the ball was the most excruciating thing Wade had ever gone through. And the incident that got him to look like that had been agonizing. But that— that was a different level of agony. One that had a perky-ass Dom smirking the whole ride.

The flash of photos being taken didn’t make his smile less wide and cocky. It helped that Peter’s hand was snug in the crook of his elbow, not leaving anything to interpretation. Wade had come before with a male plus one, so the society was used to that. However, not a single one of his past hookups managed to convince him to come to such a party with his ass straining to keep the beads in.

Even he was amazed at how naturally he behaved on the red carpet and then inside where they were approached by a wide range of personalities, going from singers to actors, to business partners, and even some rival companies. Wade made small talk here and there, introducing Peter and letting him take over whenever he wanted to.

They found Shiklah later than Wade had wanted to.

“Look at you, you found yourself the cutest arm candy I’ve seen so far,” she said by way of greeting, sizing Peter up as if she was appreciating every inch of smart dressed man that stood next to Wade, but he knew she was also analyzing him in that ‘enemy vs. friend’ way. 

“Miss Shiklah,” Peter said, the suave and smooth tone of voice taking Wade by surprise, although he didn’t show it on his face, “such a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Peter Reilly. It’s an honor to be invited to such a ball.”

“And a smooth talker to boot,” she quipped, amusement softening her features. She turned her attention on Wade. “Did you hit the jackpot without telling me?”

Wade smirked. “The jackpot hit me.”

Her attention was pulled behind Wade. “Well, enjoy yourselves. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” She nodded at them, but stopped right at Wade’s shoulder. “Don’t forget that you have a speech in two hours. Bail on me and I’ll have your balls hanging from the company flag pole tomorrow.”

Wade almost squeaked when he involuntarily squeezed his ass at the mention of balls, and Shiklah narrowed her eyes in confusion.

“I promise I won’t,” he said, managing through some divine intervention to sound normal and not like every contraction of his inner muscles moved those beads around.

She left them and Peter’s smile looked pointed and like he wanted to say something, but he was interrupted when a couple accosted them and they were both drawn into a long discussion of politics and global warming.

“People are giving you weird looks,” Peter said from behind the rim of his flute before he took a sip, when they were finally left alone for a bit. “Maybe tone down on the smile.”

“Well,” Wade began, keeping his voice low enough so that only Peter could hear it, “they’re not the ones with four balls in their ass trying to walk like there’s only air there.”

Peter tried to stifle the chuckles, but he couldn’t stop the smile from stretching.

“You enjoy that,” Peter said, still perusing the sea of fine dressed people.

“What? Feeling owned even though there’s a palm’s distance between us? Or the fact that I can act all tough and mighty here, but back home you can make me kneel instantly with just a word? Yes to both.”

“Too bad that you can’t skip this ball early,” Peter commented lightly.

“I can fake a stomach ache.”

“That requires you to bend.”

And bending meant the beads were moving. And moving meant Wade’s mouth turned on like a switch. It wouldn’t do to have the news headlines wax poetically over the range of his vocal chords the following day.

“Shiklah can take over. She’s the one who organized this thing.”

“That won’t do. You’re the CEO and the face of the company,” Peter said, a sly lilt in his voice. 

“Sadist.”

Peter smirked. “Only when your pleasure is involved.”

The evening proceeded somewhat smoothly. Wade was almost disappointed that nothing worth of the usual tabloids happened, but then again he got to see Peter navigate nasty conversations with so much tact that Wade had to admit he was fanboying hard on his Dom. He should probably ask Peter for an autograph before he became famous.

He had the looks. Those chocolate curls kept in place by gel, his charming smile, and strikingly blue eyes. The baby blue suit he wore with his black bow and the buttoned up vest underneath— if he didn’t get contracts from modelling companies or even directors, then Wade had invited the wrong people to the ball.

Not that he liked having his Dom be snatched from under his nose by a flock of gals — old and young — when the time for his speech came. It was that damn fine suit Peter wore, he was certain of it. Wade had been checking him out as subtly as he could — like a brick in your face — whenever he was engaged in a conversation or other.

His hand went to his neck to loosen his tie when he remembered that he opted out of the white tie, leaving the black satin shirt and his red suit without a speck of white on it. He unfastened the topmost button on his shirt, though.

The jitters weren’t because he was afraid to address a large public — far from it — but the fact that there was a new element that would be taking part in his usual public act and then this other, strange feeling that made him want to do a stellar job and to see that pleased smile on Peter’s face.

Huh.

When was the last time he felt like going to these lengths to please someone?

Only when he had been scening with his Dommes. Never outside of that.

Shiklah intercepted him before he climbed the stairs leading to the raised dais and gave him the speech she prepared. He didn’t go along with everything that was written there, of course he didn’t. He also didn’t move as much as he usually did. He knew she expected him to go off script and ramble about anecdotes and make jokes that didn’t work well with a charity ball. But decorum dictated that you laughed politely even if it wasn’t funny.

Wade loved that about high society.

That was why he always pushed those ‘respectable’ limits with his running mouth. The pleasure he took from making the socialites uncomfortable was priceless.

The only one that seemed to be enjoying the charade Wade was putting on was Peter, having made his way to the first row. There was a twinkle in his eyes and Wade tried not to linger on him for too long because he knew he’d be distracted.

Shiklah let him off the hook after the speech, so they didn’t have to stay there until the end. Peter was oddly quiet during the ride back home, and Wade knew that if he jumped his Dom they’d have to take the  _ long  _ way. And he’d rather chafe his knees on his bedsheets than on the hard, unforgiving carpet of the limo.

“Please fuck me,” Wade said against Peter’s mouth as he was, once again, pressed against the first wall inside Wade’s penthouse.

He drew back, the expression on his face telling Wade that he hadn’t expected that.

“You didn’t seriously think that I’d let you stretch and tease my ass with those balls without you fucking me afterwards, did you?”

In answer, Peter slammed their mouths together, not enough to hurt their lips, but enough to have their teeth clashing. But the pain was instantly forgotten when Peter hoisted Wade up, making the beads move inside his ass and pull out of him the best lewd moan he had (which was such a shame because he was saving it for later).

He reconsidered that statement when Peter  _ carried  _ that chunk of scarred flesh to the bedroom as if he didn’t weigh more than a medium box full of chick lit.

“I’m pretty sure I weigh fifty pounds more than you,” Wade said breathlessly as he peered down at a devilishly smirking Dom.

“And I’m sure you haven’t stopped underestimating me.”

He let Wade stand near the bed so that they could both help each other get rid of the one too many layers of clothes.

“How’s your skin?” Peter asked between the kisses they sneaked in.

“Itching in the usual places,” Wade said, after Peter relieved him of the last piece of clothing, his boxers.

He bent towards the night stand where an array of body lotions, skin ointment, and lube covered half of the dark surface.

“Allow me.” His hand covered Wade’s, two of his fingers on the blue tube, but he didn’t take it from his hand.

Wade nodded and let Peter coat his palm as he lifted his arms. It always itched harder at the first touch of the ointment before it petered out into a sensation of cool and calm. He was, however, distracted by Peter’s slow kiss, lips molding over Wade’s in long, drawn out strokes, as his hands lightly rubbed the ointment into his skin.

He gently coaxed Wade back until his legs hit the bed and he sat down, scooting over as Peter knelt on the bed and squeezed more ointment into his palm.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice strangely gravely considering that his timbre was not as rough as Wade’s. “Lie down and relax, love. Let me take care of you.”

And Wade did just that, closing his eyes and letting his mind’s eye picture the way Peter massaged his inner thighs before his hands glided down to frame his groin, taking care to spread the ointment over the valley where thigh met pelvis.

Wade sighed, loving every second of it, Peter's hands pressing down just the right amount. Then he moved to his feet; he jolted when Peter pushed his fingers between his toes because that  _ tickled. _ Peter was smiling when Wade lifted his head to tell him as much, but he withdrew his fingers and continued with the pampering.

“Damn, baby boy,” Wade murmured, “you could make a career out of giving erotic massages.”

Peter huffed a quiet laugh, the puffs fanning over Wade’s shin, right below his knee, before the softness of his lips came. He didn’t stop coating his foot in the relieving lotion, neither did he stop laying delicate kisses on the inside of Wade’s knee and thigh. Even when he moved to the other foot, he simply changed the thigh he was giving his undivided attention.

“Mm, if that wasn’t my thigh you’re pampering so much, I’d definitely be jealous,” Wade commented just to hear the subsequent bout of chuckles. 

But then Wade moved his hips and one bead came out before he could stop it.

“Shit,” Wade ushered out as he looked down at Peter.

“I believe it’s time we moved on,” Peter said conversationally, that mischievous smile making Wade bite his lower lip because he wanted to kiss him again.

He leaned towards the bedside table to pull out a black tea towel that Wade kept there for emergencies, and clean the residual ointment from his hands.

“How are you feeling?”

“Horny and ready to be fucked,” Wade said without missing a beat.

Peter came above him, letting his groin glide over Wade’s so that it pulled a slow exhale out of him. The smirk was still there, but Wade could also see the lust in those blue eyes. His forearm bracketed Wade’s head as his hands came up to fondle Peter’s ass slowly.

“I’m gonna fuck you so slow and good, you’re gonna feel it for the days to come,” Peter murmured, keeping Wade’s attention.

His cock throbbed at the prospect, and he moaned when his ass clenched over the three beads.

“Fuck yes, baby boy!”

But instead of going for a kiss, as the closeness between their faces alluded to, Peter pushed himself back and repositioned Wade’s legs so that he had a clear, unobstructed view of his ass.

“Mm, you’re trying so hard to not let the second one out,” Peter said with that little smile in the corner of his lips.

“Fuck, please, Sir!” Wade begged.

Peter teased the ring of muscles with one finger, and Wade almost squirmed in protest, but then he pulled on the little chain and the second one came out. So did the third one, but with the fourth one, Peter played a bit.

“You’ve had them in for enough time that now you’re so loose,” Peter commented in fascination as he kept pulling half of the bead out and then pushing it back in.

By that point Wade was panting heavily, his thigh muscles quivering.

“Please,  _ please fuck me, Sir!” _

“Mm, you beg so prettily,” Peter purred as he took the last bead out completely.

When nothing else came, but there was movement on the bed, Wade opened his eyes to see Peter rearrange the pillows on the padded headboard, before he made himself comfortable there.

“Come,” Peter said, curling a finger, “straddle me.”

Wade complied eagerly, his ass touching Peter’s thighs lightly.

“Place your hands on the headboard, lean into me and present your ass,” Peter instructed.

He did as he was told, bracketing Peter’s head between his forearms as he leaned forward until Peter’s hair tickled the side of his face. Two warm palms caressed his ass, before three fingers, two of which were coated in lube, started to circle his loose hole.

It was just teasing, but damn if it didn’t made Wade anticipate the breach like a kinky Christmas present.

“Tell me how you’re feeling, love,” Peter asked, voice low and breathing measured.

“Like I’m gonna explode from anticipation!” Wade blurted out, wiggling his butt.

Peter slapped it lightly in retaliation, and Wade moaned softly.

_ “Fuuuck,  _ do that again. I think I could come just from that.”

Peter huffed. “We can’t have that,” he said as two fingers pushed in.

Wade caught Peter’s earlobe between his teeth in a moment of pure instinct, worrying it lightly.

_ “Fuck,” _ Peter moaned for the first without Wade touching his dick.

Good to know that there were other parts of his body that were sensitive to the point of making him moan. He kept worrying his Dom’s earlobe as Peter tried to scissor him, but managed a sloppy job because Wade couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting up and gliding against Peter’s cock if someone paid him. Not that the hand Peter kept on his hip did anything to even slow him down.

“In, Wade, I want in!” Peter croaked into his ear, and Wade pushed back.

He found the lube fast and squeezed a copious amount right onto Peter’s groin, before he discarded the bottle and spread the lube all over Peter’s dick, stroking him and delighting in the moans he pulled from his lover.

Then he positioned himself and took Peter in one go, the stretch burning in the most pleasurable ways possible. So good it felt, in fact, that Wade’s eyes rolled back and he closed his eyes, savoring the hot rod throbbing in his ass.

Being as impatient as Wade was, meant that he began moving within the next second, one hand planted into Peter’s shoulder while the one on his knee kept himself balanced.

They were both moaning and gasping as Wade rode Peter fast, until Peter grabbed his hips and pushed Wade on his back. He kept the unforgiving pace up, but the change in angle, as well as Peter pushing his legs up until they almost touched his chest, meant that Wade was now crying out and encouraging Peter to go harder.

It didn’t take them long to climax, considering that Peter hadn’t stopped to tease him anymore.

They were both panting so hard that neither could utter a word. Peter simply lay next to Wade, facing each other and that was all Wade needed in life. Because he understood Peter’s feelings in that moment. In that fleeting, tender moment of them staring at each other as their breaths calmed down.

***

The first thing that he thought of as soon as he opened his eyes was that they hadn’t scened last night. They actually had plain, ol’ sex—  _ lovemaking, _ his mind supplied. Which was nowhere in the contract.

He sat up in his empty bed and winced at the soreness that was his ass before mulling over that knowledge.

No plausible explanation came to him as he showered (gingerly washing his ass) and made himself breakfast, not even when he sat down (with all the poise of a professional ballet dancer) at his glass table to eat and watch satirical sketch shows. So he filed it off as something to maybe ponder about later.

Right at that moment he was busy watching the breaking news about drug and human trafficking lord, Joker, being transported on a gurney outside a dilapidate, half-collapsed building. The headline read ‘Fisk’s fist brought down on another drug cartel’. They sure as hell hailed that trash can as a hero.

Wade didn’t even need to think hard to know that the only reason that happened was because Joker tried to take a bite out of that mass of fat and only managed to break his teeth in the process.

Fisk wasn’t Wade’s direct rival— not in the daylight. Things changed when his underworld operations came to play. His goons had destroyed plenty of Wade’s merch just to spite him. He never retaliated because he recognized Kingpin’s power and territorial stretch, but also because the petty baiting was just that. 

There was also something else to consider: if Kingpin didn’t come after him with all his power, then that meant one of the two possibilities: the little skirmishes came only from the rats Wade’s own had to deal with on a daily basis, or Kingpin saw Wade as someone he didn’t want to trifle with just yet.

That last part he found cute. His brain farted cute things once every blue moon. 

But he was inclined to believe half of both those scenarios. Or the third one in which he saw Kingpin using those dirty tricks to cover something else, bigger and more damaging for Wade. In which case he was royally fucked.

He sent a quick text to Shiklah, telling her to check every operation and make sure they were in order.

She sent him an emoji that rolled his eyes.  _ Don’t I always check twice? _

And then another one arrived.  _ Don’t tell me the news had your panties in a twist. Pull your submissive brain off the floor. If he comes after you, we’re more than ready to fight back. _

Wade smirked. She was right. He had never let his guard down. You’d be dead come morning in the kind of world Wade wiggled his butt. He didn’t usually mull over things this hard. It was because he woke up in such good spirits (sore ass notwithstanding). And that didn’t always mean that he was relaxed and enjoyed himself for the rest of the day.

Speaking of enjoyment, he shot Peter a text message asking if he was free during the weekend and if he wanted to spend it with him.

The reply came ten minutes later.  _ Just Friday. _

The message was a bit odd, but Wade let it slide off. He got to spend another night with his Petey pie. Could Wade get any luckier than that?

The answer was obviously no.

***

Friday rolled over and the knock came a minute past 9PM. 

Wade didn’t open the door. He wasn’t supposed to. That was what he told Peter the night before. He was to knock once and then let himself in.

What Peter discovered upon making his way towards the living room mostly suffused in darkness, except for the soft glow of the city lights and the spotlights embedded in the two stairs leading to the open floor space, was a kneeling sub.

He didn’t look up to see what kind of expression Peter wore.

Wade chose to be completely naked for what he thought his Dom might want to do with their scene that night, posture straight, but in a natural way, his head slightly bowed, knees pulled apart enough to give his Dom a full view.

“Welcome back, Sir,” Wade rumbled, keeping his voice slightly above a murmur.

He saw the sport bag hit the floor near the couch and then Peter’s black and white sneakers stopping a mere step away from Wade’s cushion.

“Look at me,” Peter ordered, and the tone— didn’t have the usual softness around it. Or even that lilt that told Wade that Peter was pleased with him.

His heart skipped a bit. Did he do this the wrong way? Was he supposed to let Peter decide what and how they were scening? But Wade liked to have his input because ultimately it was about his pleasure too.

Wade looked up, and his eyes widened at the sight of the mask. He opened his mouth to say something about that. He thought they were past that— that they had  _ something.  _

“Tonight we’ll scene with my mask on,” was all that he offered in that same neutral tone of voice, which for Wade sounded so off and— harsh. Like he was speaking through a thick wall that had appeared between them when Wade hadn’t been looking. 

He was so disoriented that he didn’t know if he could get into the right headspace to continue the scene. After all, he had been so ready for some sexy times with his Dom that this sudden change in behavior was grating Wade. It was like Peter forgot to use the smooth part of the cloth he was cleaning Wade with.

“Permission to speak, Sir,” he said, his voice rough.

It took Peter a while to answer. “Permission granted.”

Wade searched the mask. “What happened? Why— you feel off. Is there something I need to know?”

It ticked him off so much that he couldn’t see Peter’s entire face, those expressive eyes. He couldn’t read him at all. That plump mouth was set into a rigid line. Something  _ was  _ bothering his Dom, but Wade couldn’t figure out what.

Then Peter released a sigh and sat on the couch, elbows on his knees and hands twined as his head bowed forward.

“Some— personal issues. I’m sorry for killing the mood,” he said and then looked up. 

“Anything I can help with?”

The mask stared at him for a solid minute before Peter shook his head. Wade cocked an eyebrow. There was  _ something  _ there, but whether Peter was not comfortable sharing that information with Wade or whether he was the kind of guy who preferred to keep his personal life separated from his work, Wade couldn’t be sure.

“Do you think we can go back to scening?” Peter asked and the uncertainty of the question as well as the question itself kind of threw Wade off.

“That depends mostly on you.”

Peter cupped his cheek, a sad smile cresting his lips. “I’m a sorry excuse of a Dom if I made you worry so much.”

Wade’s hand covered Peter’s. “You’re not. I understand that sometimes some things that happen in our life are harder to ignore or push back than others.”

“My wise little sub,” Peter murmured, their heads leaning in.

“Enjoy it while you can, the next one’s gonna cost you.”

Peter mirrored Wade’s grin with a more energetic smile of his own.

“How much will it cost me?”

“It depends.” 

“On?” Peter’s breath caressed his lips.

“How much you make me worry.”

Peter tasted like grilled cheese and meat.

***

A week passed and Wade hadn’t heard anything from Peter— which was odd. He left him about a dozen messages and even a handful of calls. No reply.

The fat, white envelope was still on his glass table, in the same place Wade left it before he had that last scene with him. The sight of it still worried Wade for some inexplicable reason. Maybe Peter forgot it or maybe he thought he didn’t deserve it after how they started their night.

He called the agency, but they told him that they had no information on Peter’s whereabouts and that he should come by their club to talk to someone in person, maybe they could help.

That was how he found himself walking down a corridor and into an oval space that had heavy black and burgundy curtains instead of normal doors. The carpet was a deep red and the front desk, a tall, semi-curved, thing sat at the back of the room, between the other two exits.

The area was pretty busy this early in the evening, different pairs of groups of three to five people walking back and forth between the two doors. Every single one wore a leather getup of some kind. Some were walking on all fours, collared and leashed, others walked two steps behind a fully leather-clad Dom or Domme. It was a BDSM club, all right. Or maybe this was just a part of the whole stuff Peter told Wade that they offered.

Well, it was only fair that he’d be given the address of this club since his contract fell right into this department.

“Hey there, sugar-lollipop,” he greeted the receptionist, a woman in full dominatrix getup, with a mask that only framed her eyes.

She had cat ears that kept her blonde hair pulled back.

She also didn’t look impressed at Wade’s nickname, but she kept sucking on her lollipop.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Winston. Wilson Wade Winston— wait, that’s not right. Damn, the alliteration is so confusing.”

She arched an eyebrow, then typed in something. “Mr. Wilson,” she said, her expression not changing much, except when she passed the lollipop on the other side. “You’re Peter’s sub.”

“That I am,” he said proudly.

“What do we owe the pleasure of you being here? Did Peter schedule you up for a session in one of our rooms?” She typed some more, her pointy nails clicking loudly over the keys; she must have experience using a keyboard with those long nails because Wade couldn’t imagine it being practical for that. Scratching, yes. Typing— maybe not. “Nothing comes up in the system.”

“That’s why I’m here. I haven’t heard from Petey pie in over a week. Your people told me on the phone that I should come up here and talk to someone.”

She frowned. “He’s not in today.”

“Huh. Did he take a vacay and forgot to mention it?”

“That’s— not something Peter does. He’s never taken days off except when he had to visit his aunt at the hospital.”

Wade’s cheerful mood slowly dissipates, that wrong feeling becoming more annoying in the back of his mind.

“Wait a moment here,” she said as she stood up and disappeared behind the black curtain towards the right side.

Wade drummed his fingers taking in the almost stuffy look of the room. Would’ve been stuffy if it wasn’t so big. The curtains and kinda retro look of the cream walls with golden reflections jarred Wade a bit. But hey, it wasn’t his club. Though he could open one. And maybe hire Peter.

Then again, he didn’t share.

But the idea of such a club was not bad. Shiklah could definitely run such a thing. She was a control freak, after all. 

“Mr. Wilson,” the cat woman appeared from behind the curtains, definitely looking pissed off. “I’m sorry to inform you, but Peter terminated your contract and resigned from the—”

Her mouth kept forming words, but Wade couldn’t hear anything beyond the fact that Peter, for  _ some reason,  _ decided to break the contract and leave his workplace, too.

“Why.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why did he resign?” he asked, his voice soft. 

“We’re not sure,” she said, the anger still there. “He only left a memo stating that Eddie could take his clients. Now, we apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you. We are prepared to offer you a discount on the services of—”

Wade slammed his palms on the shiny countertop, the sting dousing his senses clean. She fell silent, but didn’t jolt.

“Where is Peter?” he asked slowly, pinning her down.

“As I told you, we don’t know what our employees do outside of their working hours.”

“You must have some information on him. Phone number, address, some next of kin you can contact in case of anything.”

“That’s information we cannot disclose to anyone, least of all a client. It was his decision to resign, and as far as our side is concerned he finished everything he had going on before he did that.”

Blood rushed to his ears. “He didn’t finish with me.”

She measured him up. “Well, clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t be here creating a commotion.”

People had gathered around the doors, watching avidly the interaction between the two of them. Okay, Wade had no qualms leaving damage behind, but this time he had a feeling that going on a rampage wouldn’t give him the answers he needed.

“Fine. Have it your way,” he said, adjusting the jacket of his black suit, before turning away. But he stopped after three steps. “Does the word ‘may’ tell you anything?” He looked over his shoulder at her frowning face.

“No.”

He nodded and pulled back the red curtains.

“Wait. I think it was his aunt’s name, if I remember correctly.”

He nodded his thanks and left the place.

***

It took his contacts two weeks to find someone matching Wade’s vague request. And that was because May  _ Parker  _ had not changed her surname back to her maiden name after her husband died.

And of course Peter would use that surname, knowing that it would require considerable funds and connections to get to a part of the truth. In the meantime, Wade was pulling off the hair he didn’t have because his team of IT experts couldn’t find any kind of information of his Dom.

Either his Dom was one hell of a hacker or he was wasting money on his team.

Weasel, however, unearthed old records of a certain Peter B. Parker having attended Midtown High School after which he enrolled into Stanford University on a scholarship where he attended one year before he inexplicably dropped out. That was roughly three years ago.

The explanation came when they found out that May Parker had been hospitalized around the same period with cardio-respiratory problems. 

She changed three hospitals in New York, and the last one was the Columbia and Cornell.

He didn’t wait for Weasel to tell him that it made sense since it was ranked 4th in the country when it came to heart disease. Wade needed answers.

Peter didn’t like to leave unfinished business behind. The cat woman confirmed. He was the only one he didn’t end the contract with officially. If that didn’t tell Wade something was wrong, then he didn’t know what would. 

He had to pull off the airheaded, worried relative who forgot where he put their sick aunt in a hospital as huge as that one. He’d have been suspicious if he didn’t know exactly the date Peter checked his aunt into the hospital. The woman manning the reception desk checked the written reports of the doctors and found her name under the date Wade specified.

The problem arose when she typed in that name, and his suspicions became a reality.

“What the—” the old lady said, frowning, as she type some more. He waited. “There are no files on that patient in the system.”

Of fucking course there weren’t. That was his Dom she was talking about. Peter  _ fucking  _ Parker covering his tracks. That was gonna be one of those long-ass, annoying games of chess, wasn’t it? As if Wade ever picked up the easiest prey to catch.

His deranged grin coupled with his scarred face had people give him a wide berth as he stalked out of the hospital, hitting the speed dial on his phone.

“Miguel, how are the kids? Right, we don’t talk about the kids. Put every rat, mole, lure, chimichangas we have under our thumb across this snow globe on search for a Peter and May Parker. Of course I have a picture of him. Not of her. Hit the articles about Charity Land and you’ll see who I’m talking about. Of course he won’t be that stupid to use his own fucking name if he left the country. He went to great pains to delete any info about his aunt at the hospital where she was not a week ago. Keep me posted.” He disconnected.

“Now, what’s the best way to greet your runaway Dom?” he said to himself as he went to his car. “‘Did you miss me? ‘Cause I sure as hell missed the memo when you up and disappeared.’ Too corny? Hm, maybe ‘remember when you signed that contract that said that both parties need to agree before it’s broken?’ Nah, too long— and technical. How about ‘I never filed for divorce so call me maybe?’” And that was his cue to go on a singing spree as he stomped the gas pedal and left smoke behind him.

***

Even those photos disappeared and Wade slapped himself for being so stupid and not saving any of them to his phone. But how could you know that the person you came to trust so implicitly would decide one day to just leave you stranded?

***

The next trail he found took him to Brooklyn, but it turned out to be just a dead end. 

One month passed.

Peter became a ghost on his skin and dreams sometimes dug so much into his core that he had a hard time shrugging off the sadness.

He destroyed his bed around four in the morning when his phone pinged with negative results from every snitch and mole he had in America.

***

Something pinged in Brazil, but by the time he got there the black market weapons dealer had lost the trail.

He also lost his leg.

And his dominant hand.

Along with his heart.

He clearly didn’t need that if he was so insensitive to Wade’s affliction.

***

Argentina was so damn hot in the middle of August that Wade chopped the dealer before he even told Wade what he knew.

The itching was driving him crazy. His Deadpool suit did not help.

In hindsight, killing a connection so far away from home hadn’t been a wise decision as that territory had been prey to more than one dealer. Now Wade had just lost that knee-deep foot he had up the Argentinian police’s ass.

The second-in-command came into power.

He looked like he knew his way around, and he relayed the information Wade needed.

He also looked like he was biding his time before he stabbed Wade in the back.

Wade shot a text message to Shiklah with the change in rats-in-command and to make sure he didn’t get out of line. She sent him  _ the  _ finger emoji.

Yeah, his bad. He shouldn’t put that much strain over her slender should— who was he kidding? She had tortured his ass like the sound of his screams and moans were what gave her life. She still did, only not in a physical way. Yeah, they had always finished in the most mind-numbing orgasms, but damned if he’d be down for that at the moment. She could take the work he put on her shoulders.

His baby boy was missing and he’d cough up three lungs if he wasn’t going to find him.

Even if that meant turning the underworld upside down.

***

_ Will you stop fucking murdering our contacts overseas??? You’re pissing me off! Get your fucking ass back to the States. Kingpin’s going hard at your territory lines. He knows you’re out of the country.  _

Six months had passed since Peter disappeared from Wade’s life. Six months of dead ends and bodies. The smell of blood, airports and city fumes was so strong and such a constant that Wade forgot how his baby boy smelled like.

He looked down into his sake cup. 

A neon light fell down behind him.

The pools were red and the place was strewn with dead bodies.

A grimy photo of a man in a beanie sat open on his phone. The wide, dark rimmed glasses covered his eyes, but it didn’t distract Wade from the circles under his eyes or the grim set of his mouth. Wade would know those lips and that jaw anywhere. 

_ Almost done here. Will be back by the end of the week. _

Her text came quickly.  _ You better be! _

***

“I don’t know where he is!” he cried out in broken English as Miguel pulled another nail off, his shouts only eliciting a slow blink from Wade’s impassive face.  _ “I don’t know where he is!” _

“Boss,” Miguel said, his voice so rough it sounded like bluffs scraping against each other, “I think he’s telling the truth.”

Wade watched as the sniveling Russian drug supplier wept. Both his legs had been severed off above the knee, the blood still dripping from the two katanas in his hands. Four fingers had been cut clean, and that nail Miguel pulled. His face was intact— apart from that split lip when Wade lost it and the puffy eyes from the ugly crying. 

He was impressed that the guy hadn’t passed out from the blood loss. 

“I don’t know where he is,” he kept weeping.

He moved swiftly and the guy’s head came off clean. Miguel didn’t even blink.

“What? That was for your kids! He was going to sell them drugs or some shit. A birdie told me.” He cleaned the katanas on his red forearm. 

“Are you okay, boss?”

“‘Course I am,” Wade chirped without the usual cheer, pulling down his mask. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Miguel opened his mouth, probably on the verge of reminding him that he had no kids, because it was Wade who looked at him when they first met and told him that he had two girls and one boy whose front milk teeth had fallen. He closed his mouth.

“I’m gonna clean this up. You go wait in the car, boss. Then we’ll take the first plane back home.”

Wade snorted, but sheathed his katanas and exited the basement of the abandoned building. He stopped when he took the first corner, fingers flexing as if he wanted to fist them, but couldn’t.

_ “Fuck!”  _ he gritted out as his fist collided with the wall, both it and his knuckles getting the short end out of the impact.

His baby boy was really gone.


	2. Chapter 2

***

The hiss came unbidden as he sprayed the antiseptic on his right shoulder blade. His bathroom smelled of sweat and anti-bacterial spray as well as whiskey.

Shiklah was leaning against the door jamb, her arms crossed as her light brown eyes stared at his back. Yeah, he knew his wounds looked (and felt) bad enough to send him to ER, but he’d shoot anyone who forced him into a hospital.

“You’re invited to the Underworld Summit in May,” Shiklah said conversationally. 

“Where?”

“Italy this time. Milan. Under the Basilica of Sant’Eustorgio.” 

He met her gaze in the mirror, pausing in his movements. “Gambino’s hosting it.”

He always found Carlo Gambino’s fondness of churches in general a bit off the rails. But then again, in their line of work weird quirks were a given. You had to be obsessed with something— or someone to make it through the day and not lose it completely.

“Carlo’s daughter is. And she wrote with all the poise and elegance an Italian  _ mafiosa  _ can have that no one is to skip this meeting or else.”

Wade resumed his cleaning. “We’ll see.”

“You know you need a doctor, right?”

“Fuck you, Shiklah,” Wade grumbled, wincing as he dabbed at the gash; thankfully, the blood stopped. “Give me that pad, will ya.”

She sighed and took the sealed package, ripping the protection before peeling off the back that framed the square pad. She didn’t give it to him, instead applying it herself over the wound.

He grabbed the second bottle of whiskey and downed the last dregs of it. The first one mostly went on the wounds on his left side, arms and legs. The second one went into his stomach.

“I’m impressed you’re not drunk off your ass or passed out from blood loss.”

He grunted, so not in the mood for talking in that moment. But she didn’t look like she was going to leave any time soon, so he had to bear the lecture that he knew was coming and then sleep it off.

On the couch.

He didn’t have a bed anymore.

“So are you gonna tell me why you have a death wish? Because I’m pretty sure you were waiting for those skirmishes to happen again so you’d have a reason to lash out. You’re lucky the police got there before you went head-to-head with Kingpin. Is it your pay-per-service Dom?”

His reflection in the mirror threw her a murderous look as he struggled to wrap the bandage around his midriff to cover the bullet wound to his side. Again, she stepped up behind him and took the lead, not even hesitating when he tensed. Or more like she didn’t care.

“What happened between you two?” she said softly, her attention on the bandage she was wrapping. “You’ve never been one for exclusivity. Heck, you even dated Death while I was your Dom. Why are you so hung up on this one?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said quietly, staring at the blood soaked pads and cloths in the sink.

“Is that it? Or is it that you’d not be able to explain it to me?”

“Did you ever feel such a deep connection to someone that even when they stopped being a constant presence in your life you kept seeing them, reliving the moments spent together like it’s a fucking video projector that doesn’t have an off switch?”

Shiklah studied him for a few moments. “Is that what this is? You falling in love with the first Dom that does what a Dom is supposed to do after your surgeon fucks you up so much that your skin suffers irreversible damage? If you wanted that kind of care, you only needed to ask, Wade.”

He meets her impenetrable gaze in the mirror. “You made it clear after I got out of IC that you wouldn’t be able to be my Dom anymore.”

She frowns. “That’s because at the time I had no idea how to give you what you needed—”

“Let’s not screw up this relationship again, Shiklah,” Wade growled, his features set in stone. “We never connected on a deeper level than you enjoying domming me. It was fun. You showed me what I was missing from my life, but that was it. We never loved each other.”

“Speak for yourself, idiot,” she threw at him with a venomous stare before she left the bathroom.

He followed her out. “What, you’re saying you had feelings for me, now?”

“I could’ve!” her voice grew in volume, sign that he had scratched something she didn’t want him to scratch.

“You didn’t.” They stopped in the hallway, halfway towards the front door. She didn’t turn to look at him. “You don’t. You’re just acting up because somebody else has my attention. It’s always been about attention, didn’t it? You liked being the center of attention of someone powerful like me.”

She turned around, fire in her eyes. “Oh, get over yourself, Wilson. You’re not the only powerful villain out there.”

“But I’m the only one who saw you for who you were and wasn’t afraid or disgusted by it.”

She opened her mouth, but finished by closing it again, turning her attention towards the window view on her left.

“Fine, do what you want. Fucking die, if that’s what you wish for, but don’t come—”

“I don’t have a  _ fucking death wish!” _ he growled, fists clenched at his side, even as he felt the muscles pulling at the freshly-bandaged wounds. “I just want to find him,” he continued quietly, his gaze shifting from her face.

“You’ve followed trail after trail for more than half a year. With your kind of connections you’d have found him by now. Don’t you think it’s best if you don’t? If you leave him be? Maybe this is what he wants.”

He stared back at her calmly. “But it’s not what I want.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed loudly. “This obsession you have with him is going to send you to an early grave.”

He grinned sharply. “Your predictions work best when they’re directed at my business.”

She blinked. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And she left him be.

***

Easter came and went like a dream.

Or a nightmare.

Fisk was becoming more forward and agressive, and Wade wasn’t giving him a fucking inch.

He could taste the tension in the air, but he cooled off after the argument he had with Shiklah and tried to keep himself focused on his business— though his eyes stared at his phone whenever there was a moment of respite in the day. Or night. He slept very little. And drank too much.

His alcohol tolerance grew each time he managed to get himself hammered.

Why was his Dom so elusive? You’d expect the sub to disappear and have the Dom chase them. But no, Wade drew the short stick again.

You’d say that the short stick had been drawn when he fell for Peter fucking Parker, but this was one of those sticks that kept giving short sticks. Like a piñata. No, wrong word. Matrioshka. Better. His entire fucking life was a bad Matrioshka hiding more bad Matrioshkas inside.

***

And then his phone rang in the middle of him going over the gritty pieces of footage of Peter in different airports that Weasel got for him. A nice, cloudy afternoon on a Wednesday.

He answered without even checking the caller ID.

“What’s burning?” he said absentmindedly. There was only one video of four seconds where Peter was turned with his back to the security camera as he bent down to help the old lady who dropped her purse.

He had that video on his phone and he kept staring at it in the darkest hours of the night when whiskey started to taste like old socks left in a drawer. Sometimes he cried silent tears watching that video because he couldn’t remember what it was like to look forward to a new day.

_ “Boss, we have a fresh trail,”  _ Miguel rumbled in his ear and Wade instantly sat ramrod straight in his office chair. 

“Where?”

***

He screeched the car to a stop, cutting his path just as he was about to cross. He pulled down the window.

“Baby boy!”

“Shit,” was all that got out of Peter’s mouth at the sight of Wade.

Before he jumped over the hood of Wade’s car, leggings-clad ass skidding over and then he tore off on a side street. That ass looked even more obscene since the last time he saw it— or maybe it was the ‘long time no see’ that made it appear even rounder and plumper than before. 

Right.

He was in pursuit of a Dom.  _ His  _ Dom. No time mooning over such a perfect ass. He’d have time enough to appreciate it once he caught him.

“What do you know, new kink unlocked: chasing my runaway Dom through Milan.”

He put the car in reverse and tore off the narrow, cobbled side streets that were so Italian it hurt his ass.

Shiklah started calling him ‘lovesick puppy’ because even after all the trails had gone cold and nothing pinged for  _ months  _ he still kept an ear to the ground. He’d die before he gave up. He wanted answers and the only one who could give them to him didn’t exist anywhere on record.

Night after night he kept replaying in his head every scene they had done, every hour spent together. He did that so that he could keep those memories fresh, so that he couldn’t forget how it  _ felt  _ to belong, to be cared for, to be looked at as if there was nothing more gorgeous in that world but Wade.

That last part wasn’t true, but that was how Peter made him feel.

Call him a lovesick girl who didn’t know when to give up.

But that lovesick girl was also hell-bent on finding her guy and dragging the answers out of him.

_ “Boss, we got him,”  _ Igor said into his earpiece.

He grinned as he pushed the gas pedal.

*** 

There was no way in all seven kinds of hell that the  _ one sub  _ Peter thought he’d have the least problems with, would give chase to him.

He fought the restraints, but nothing gave. His hands were strapped to the arms of the chair. The door opened with a loud creak.

“One year.” 

Wade’s voice grew in volume as he stalked into the bare room, his I’ve-been-bathing-in-the-blood-of-my-enemies voice echoing off the dirty walls. He was so royally pissed at that moment that it surprised Peter into stillness because he’d never seen Wade that angry before. 

“One  _ fucking  _ year, Peter Parker. That’s how long it took me to find you. Do you know what a pain in the ass it’s been for me? And you’ve been a pain deep in my ass twice and I’ve enjoyed it. Not this time.”

He took in the black suit and white, silk tie, the gloves that he was slowly taking off, and somehow still managed to think about the fact that if Wade didn’t prefer to be a sub, he’d make one hell of a dom.

“There was a reason it took you this long,” Peter threw back, his anger pushing forth just to counter Wade’s. “Why didn’t you take the damn hint! I didn’t  _ want  _ to be found!”

“You left without taking the money, you broke the contract and you didn’t even say goodbye.” He listed off, starting with his pinkie and making a big show out of it.

“Goodbye, Wade. There. Happy? Now let me go.”

“Oh, no. It’s not that simple, baby boy.” A jolt of something familiar, yet painful, ran through his body at the pet name. The boundaries between Dom and sub had never been white and black with them. “Is it because of this?” he asked softly, pointing to his face. “Did it become too much and you had a change of heart but couldn’t bear to say it to my face?”

The sudden change in conversation had Peter blink and lean his head back.

“What?”

“I only want an honest answer, Peter.”

“That’s— why would you— no.” He was so jarred out of what he was prepared to hear from Wade that he found it difficult to get the words to work and flow. “No, that’s definitely not why. Why would you even consider your skin condition as a deal breaker? I wouldn’t have accepted your contract if I didn’t—”

No. No, he wasn’t going to say that.

Wade’s face was made of granite. Peter couldn’t read anything on it and it made him feel even more off-kilter.

“Some people get off of being in control of a frea—”

“Stop!” Why was Wade talking like that about himself? “I won’t let you talk like that about yourself! Your skin condition  _ does not define you!” _

His ears were pulsing with his strong heartbeat as blood rushed to his head. They fell silent, staring at each other intensely. Wade had still to show some emotion on his face, although something in his eyes shifted. 

“I didn’t consent to the breaking of our contract,” he said as if Peter didn’t just go hot at him.

“I have the right to—”

“Even your board of topnotch people were unhappy with your decision to up and disappear. You left unfinished business.”

“I didn’t—” He paused, realizing. “Oh. But Eddie could easily take over—”

“I’ve no clue who that is, but  _ he’s not you!  _ The contract I had was with  _ you. You’re  _ my Dom. Not this Eddie.  _ You.  _ Even your gal, Cat Woman, was pissed when she found out you disappeared.”

That must have been Selina. She never cared about what Peter did in his spare time or how he conducted himself with the clients as long as he didn’t break the rules. For someone so morally flexible, she made a big fuss over the agency’s rules. Maybe it was because she considered it her home— or something else entirely.

“You weren’t supposed to come after me. You were supposed to continue your life and forget all about—”

“You? Us? The relationship we had? The trust we built? So you’re saying that you managed to do that, hm? That I wasn’t anyone important in your life.”

Peter looked up at Wade, his face a mask, more tight fitted than the one Peter wore. Why was Wade scratching at the box he was desperately trying to keep from spilling? Why was Wade  _ there _ in the first place?

Truth to be told, a small, almost infinitesimal part of him was happy that Wade was there, that he was restrained. He was so tired of running, of chasing information, of waking up from the kind of dream that made him feel warm and cosy all over only to be faced with the harsh reality of being alone. And always looking over his shoulder.

He had one too many close encounters with the goons that were on his tail.

“You were an important client.” He chose to say instead of what was clamoring in his chest.

“That’s neither here nor there. I want an honest reply.”

Peter’s eyes shifted left and right, trying to find an exit. “You were just someone who was paying me for the services I offered. Nothing more.”

His attention was swiftly brought back to Wade’s impenetrable scarred face as he leaned down, placing his gloved hands over his bound wrists, his shadowed eyes making Peter feel out of his depth— and he’d had bigger men try to intimidate him. Only they were trying too hard. Wade didn’t. He simply slipped into that persona as if it were a second skin.

“Why didn’t you take the money?”

Again, his gaze shifted everywhere but on the only man in the world he was afraid to confront after what he did, because that meant facing his feelings and being forced to take a decision in that regard.

“I left them because—” Come on, Parker,  _ think  _ of something! “Because it was a— like a down payment for the trouble I caused.” 

“I’ve seen stupider people lie better than you, Peter Parker,” he said, voice so deceptively soft and calm that every alarm went off in his head. 

“It should have covered any problems—” His gaze shifted around the dingy basement, not finding any kind of escape except the one door that he knew was heavily guarded.

“What are you running away from?” Wade asked, and when Peter’s attention returned on him, his gaze was narrowed, searching. “Or maybe I should say  _ who  _ are you running away from.”

That was ridiculous. Peter was better at keeping a poker face than this. But the situation had jarred him so much out of his balanced emotional state that Peter couldn’t even smooth down that surprise. Not to mention that Wade was hell-bent on pulling out every bit of information that Peter was clinging to even if it meant using every dirty trick in the book. 

“Look,” Peter began, deciding it was time he dropped the deflecting moves. “I’m trying to save both our asses now. You don’t know what he’s capable of. So let me go and I’ll disappear off the radar in no time and you won’t be affiliated with me either.”

Wade’s hands pressed down on Peter’s bound wrists. “What kind of an idiot would simply let his prey get away after he spent eleven months chasing cold trails?” Peter blinked in surprise at that. “You’re mine, baby boy, and I’ll be damned if I let you go now that I finally have you back in my grasp.”

Anger surged forward at how narrow-minded this infuriating man could be.

“Goddammit, Wade, let me go! You don’t know what he’s capable of! I won’t drag you into the crossfire!”

A sharp grin, devoid of any human warmth, stretched Wade’s lips. The play of light and shadow only accentuated the dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Baby boy, you’re still not aware of how much influence I have in the underworld. You still fail to understand that what you know about me and my public reputation is only the tip of the iceberg. Who is he?”

Peter stared dumbfounded at Wade, trying to fit that information in with what he already knew about him. 

“Impossible. I did research on you! You talked about your business. There’s… nothing… connecting you to the...”

The grin didn’t lessen in intensity as Peter’s image of Wade changed. “You only know what Google knows about me, and that’s just the mask I chose to show the public. And what I told you about my business, as true as that might’ve been, is not the full picture. Now, this is the last time I’m gonna ask and I want a straight answer—”

“Or else what?” His dominant persona peeked as he felt himself being ordered around, something he didn’t like. “You’re gonna torture the answer out of me?”

Wade raked his gaze over Peter, licking his lips. “That’s one way of going about it.” And Peter instantly realized that the torture he was thinking about was not the one Wade had in mind.

He swallowed and looked elsewhere. “Why me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you fixate on me. I’m just one Dom out of the million others who could give you what you need.”

“But there’s only  _ one  _ fucking Peter Parker in this entire garbage world,” Wade murmured, his palm cupping Peter’s cheek and coaxing him back into meeting his gaze— a gaze that was human and vulnerable now. “They’ll never be able to reach the level of trust we had. They’ll never give me exactly what I need when I don’t even know that I need it. You’re the only one who can put up with the full force of my personality. Even my previous Dommes found that excessive and off putting at times.”

“I do, too,” Peter whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from Wade’s face.

He grinned again. “But you’re better at navigating that than any other partner I’ve had so far.”

“Why are you so sure that this is what I want, too?”

“Because no service Dom ever gives himself so fully to the sub they have a contract with like you did. Come on, baby boy, you’re a smart one. You already knew that you’d develop feelings for me— as I did for you.”

Peter was shaking his head, even as every argument he tried to summon was shot down by his logic. He knew. He knew fully well that that relationship could have only gone into one direction. Yet, he still went along with it, he still ignored the developing feelings, putting it on the chemicals in his brain and the fact that he didn’t only give comfort and care, but he also received from this man who you wouldn’t have thought as being willing to submit himself to another man.

“That’s why I disappeared,” Peter’s voice broke the silence that followed, cracking with anger and pain. He didn’t even care that his sight was getting a bit blurry as he glared at this stupid man. “I don’t want you to be held as blackmail like my aunt is. You need to let me go and never speak of our contract to anyone. The agency already burned every evidence leading to you or me. You’re safe— if only you let me go. He’s going to come after you like he did with Manfredi!”

“So it’s Kingpin you’re running away from.” Peter’s eyes widened. “Good to finally know.” He straightened up, loosening his tie. “Sit tight for a bit, baby boy. I need to see a huge blob of dark matter about some unfinished business.”

“What? Wade, no! Don’t do this! You don’t know what he’s capable of! Joker’s entire cartel crashed and burned over night when he picked a fight with him! Wade, it’s not worth it!”

He knocked once on the steel door and it opened almost immediately. Wade’s grin had that dangerous edge to it as he put on his left glove, followed by his right. 

“Not worth it?” he asked rhetorically. “Not worth it when my baby boy chose to disappear off the face of the earth because of him? Not worth it when my baby boy is more afraid of this motherfucker instead of trusting his perfect sub that he’s gonna protect him? How can I sit twiddling my toes when there is someone who terrifies my baby boy so much that he’s willing to cut ties with me? I don’t deal well when trash like Fisk threatens the happiness of what’s mine. It makes me want to chop heads and maim important body parts. Skin them alive. Have their insides paint the walls. Sure fire to tickle the blood-thirsty beast that’s smelling blood now.” He pulled the hem of the glove against his wrist as he lifted his hand at eye level before the leather creaked in protest when he squeezed. “Miguel.”

“Yes, boss?” one of the two bulky men, twice as big as Wade, answered, his long and thin moustache hanging off the corner of his lips.

“Prepare your underlings. Tonight Deadpool&Friends are gonna see a megaton of mass about some murder.”

His eyes couldn’t possible get wider than they already were. What Wade said— it couldn’t be true, could it? This wasn’t happening to him. He dommed the everloving fuck out of one of the underworld’s most dangerous mafia boss?

Him. Peter Parker. College dropout because he couldn’t afford both education and to pay his Aunt May’s medical bills.

“Igor,” Wade barked, stepping out of the room. “Move him to my private quarters and make sure nothing gets past you, understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Wade…” Peter tried, but his voice didn’t want to work, and Wade was already out of his sight.

“Don’t worry, baby boy,” he called out, his voice echoing off the walls, “I’ll be back before midnight!”

Peter watched as the second bulky guy, Igor, stomped towards him.

“I’ll untie you. Please don’t try to escape,” he said in stilted English and Peter nodded.

He was too shocked to even summon the energy to pull such a stunt.

He was led through a series of tunnels, then up a long set of uneven stairs carved into stone, through a well-maintained garden and then inside a huge house (they call them ‘villas’, Peter remembered) of which Peter couldn’t see the end of. It was dark outside, but the flood lights illuminated the entire perimeter around the villa.

Igor showed him to a large room, luxurious and un-lived in that was enshrouded in darkness. Peter switched on the lights and found almost the same color-code as he remembered Wade’s penthouse bedroom to be only this one was interrupted by dark brown furniture, looking older than his aunt, but well-preserved.

“Where are we?”

“This is boss’ house. He uses this when he comes here.”

Peter turned to scrutinize Igor.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he continued, motioning with a scarred and huge hand towards the bed.

Peter by-passed it and went to the window. Bellow, on the gravelly road, pairs of men in black suits were patrolling both near the house and at the edge of the front garden. He had never seen so many bodyguards at Wade’s NY penthouse. In fact, until Wade caught him, he hadn’t even know Wade was anything more than a successful businessman.

“It’s best if you stay away from the window,” Igor commented as he took the upholstered chair near the door.

“Why? Are we gonna be attacked?”

Igor shrugged and pulled out his phone. “With Fisk you never know.”

A knock came and then another black suit entered placing down Peter’s black duffel bag. Igor nodded and the man retreated. He made his way to his bag quickly and opened it. He was a meticulous person by nature so even if his clothes looked neatly folded, one of his camera lenses had been placed in front of the camera and not on the side as he had initially placed them.

“You went through my stuff,” he said, and yes, it came out as accusing.

Igor shrugged, but didn’t meet Peter’s glare as he kept watching whatever he was watching on the phone.

“Standard procedure,” Igor replied a moment later. “I’m in charge of making sure you’re safe until boss returns. But I’m also in charge of the men protecting this house. I can’t allow for anything that compromises our safety or boss will have my head.”

Peter inhaled to prepare for a long speech— but he deflated soon enough, seeing his point. He huffed and shook his head, then searched all the pockets. In one of them his fingers touched something soft and smooth, and his facial muscles relaxed. He wasn’t sure if Wade would accept that after all that had happened between them. 

He fished his phone out from another pocket and powered it on.

Igor said something under his breath, and it sounded distinctly not English. He frowned.

“Something wrong?”

He lifted his phone, screen towards Peter. “Was following boss to where Fisk is. Can’t get into the camera feeds inside.”

“Oh, I think I can help with that.” He pulled out his laptop and logged in. “I’ll need your phone and power cord.”

Igor produced a neatly looped white cable and Peter got to work, laptop on the bag. In under ten minutes he was in, various camera feeds showing the inside of Fisk’s house.

The fight had already begun, but Peter couldn’t see Wade on any feed. And then his own phone rang, making him jolt, before he grabbed it.

“On speaker,” Igor said from his side where he was kneeling.

With a fortifying breath, because he saw the caller, Peter answered and then pressed the speaker button. 

“Hey, Flash.”

“YOU FU—  _ douchebag!”  _ Flash finished by whispering furiously. “Where the fuck are you and why haven’t you been answering my calls? Your aunt’s refusing to take her medicine unless she speaks with you. She thinks we kidnapped her and keeping her as some kind of ransom.”

Peter closed his eyes and prayed silently for strength and patience. Too many things were happening at once. The least expected one being Wade keeping him from completing his plan. It took him  _ years  _ to get his hands on the kind of information he had now. And just when he could finally leap, Wade metaphorically snared his wrist and bound him to the earth.

But he was zen. He wasn’t angry.

“Jackass, still there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m— in a situation right now, so—”

“Define ‘situation’.”

“It’s complicated.”

“When isn’t it complicated with you? What trouble are you in? Need money? Give me the account and I’ll—”

“No! No. Not that kind of trouble. It’s nothing you can help me solve it. It’s the kind that I need to do it myself. Anyway, could you please put my aunt on?”

“Tch, you have to ask. I’d have skinned you alive if you didn’t.”

He couldn’t help but smile when he heard his aunt’ voice. It’s been a year since he last saw her. Since he took her to Flash and Flash promised to move her to a safe location that he wouldn’t disclose even to Peter. That had been the safest option he could think of when Fisk came after him. He already blackmailed Peter with his Aunt’s life, periodically sending him photos of her in the hospital bed.

It was a miracle that Peter hadn’t folded under the emotional stress that horrible man had been causing him. And when a photo of him exiting the bdsm club with Johnny and smiling at something Johnny said, his hands a blur in the image because he always gesticulated so much, Peter’s decision was made.

It would have taken a bit more research for Fisk to find out about Wade, and for him to go after him, considering that Wade had been his only client at the time.

The information he had on the whereabouts of Fisk’s wife and son had been incomplete and mostly cold trails, but he had been forced to use them only to pull all his attention on Peter. That was how a game of chase began that lasted a year.

He didn’t think that Wade would’ve come after him, although somewhere in his heart he wished that some day, if he got out of that situation alive, he could have returned to his sub. A normal day. A chance encounter.

Peter used those fantasies to calm himself to sleep. Being on the run was stressful beyond reason. He had to constantly look over his shoulder and never trust the people he contacted for the missing information.

Then Wade appeared on one of the feeds and Peter maximized it through a combination of keys.

“Shit,” Peter breathed out.

Wade was being beaten to a pulp by Fisk who blocked almost the whole screen when he came to stand near Wade’s prone body.

_ “Shitshitshit, _ we need to do—”

“Boss can handle that.”

Peter threw him a look. “But he’s bleeding and with his skin—”

Igor’s features were set in stone, his whole posture rigid like a statue. “Miguel has his back. Boss is not alone.”

Peter blinked and turned his attention back on the feed. Sure enough, something hit Fisk in the right shoulder and he was forced to kneel, before Wade rolled off to the side. The camera Peter accessed was placed in the back corner of the room, which gave him a complete view of what was happening there.

It looked like a lab-office, with half of it being furnished to look like a meeting room slash living room with a home cinema screen instead of a hearth, while the other half had metal tables and glass tubes of different sizes and shapes.

The fight looked even with Miguel in the room and they tag-teamed Fisk, dealing some heavy blows, but Fisk was not going down. And then he knocked Miguel unconscious and Wade was favoring his left side, and Peter was gnawing at his thumb.

“He’s gonna get killed,” he said under his breath, the words echoing off in his mind like a terrifying mantra.

Igor was silent at his side, but there was no mistaking the tension in his body, so Peter did the only thing he could do from where he was. He pulled another window and typed in the code he needed to decrypt the file. Then pulled the program he had used to get into the camera feeds and using more code he connected his file to the feed.

He hit play on the video as the large screen in the room came to live and broadcast the feed. He didn’t play the whole vid, but just enough of it to come off as the warning it was meant to be. Even through the slightly grainy and discolored screen he could basically see Fisk vibrate with barely suppressed anger.

_ “Spiderman!” _

He shouted and then went on a rampage as more of Wade’s men poured in.

***

Wade was back after midnight.

Igor had left him alone after they made sure that Wade and most of their men were on their way back. Peter sucked in a breath when he saw how bloody Wade really was and couldn’t help himself but cross the spacious room and— 

“Don’t touch me,” Wade said quietly, and it was only now that he saw the grim set of his jaw, the simmering anger in his eyes. “You lost that privilege when you fucking disappeared on me.”

“I— I had to,” Peter said, thrown off balance by the sudden outburst, so at odds with how Wade spoke and behaved hours ago. His hands still hovered over Wade’s chest, his Deadpool suit dark red in a lot of places. “My aunt was in danger.  _ I  _ was in danger. I had to—”

“You didn’t trust me.”

Peter blinked, jarred by the words and the fact that Wade was wearing a mask for once. “Trust you? He was close to connecting you to me. I’d have put you in danger!”

“You didn’t even ask!” he said louder.

“You were my fucking client, Wade! I couldn’t go and—”

“I thought we were more than that,” he said quietly.

Peter opened his mouth more than once, but nothing came out. They were both tense and breathing hard, although Peter suspected Wade’s shallow breathing was because of the pain.

“Please let me tend to your wounds,” Peter pushed out, letting his emotions play on his face.

He had been wearing a mask for a long time. He was tired and now that he was there, he only wanted to forget the past year and the sleepless nights, near-death situations, and the fact that Wade went after Fisk for Peter.

Did he mention the fact that Wade’s secondary job— or primary — was that of a mafia boss? No. Well, he was plenty tired.

“Please,” he repeated when Wade didn’t move a muscle.

He nodded stiffly and lead the way into the bathroom, seemingly forgetting his previous order. There was a clawfoot tub that Peter eyed for a second, before he looked around for a first-aid case. Wade opened the cabinet above the sink where all the medical supplies were.

“Did you deplete the ER of their supplies?” Peter went for a joke as Wade took off his mask, but fell flat when Wade didn’t answer. 

With a fortifying breath he moved in besides Wade and took the antiseptic and pads and other medicine, while Wade shrugged off the upper half of his suit, letting it pool around his waist. He swallowed the pills that Peter handed him dry and Peter didn’t comment as he focused his attention on Wade’s wounded chest.

Minutes of slow breathing, sometimes gasps or hisses when Peter dabbed too much, passed, and Peter’s mind was a clamoring crowd of thoughts and sentences he wanted to voice out. He was bent down to clean and apply ointment over a hip wound, when Wade spoke.

“Was I really only a client?”

Peter paused for a bit, then resumed, not looking up at Wade. “At first,” he said, softly.

Wade’s arms were lax alongside his body and Peter was afraid to meet his gaze. He couldn’t make out what Wade was thinking or feeling in that moment from the tone of voice, but Peter suspected that he’d drown beneath them if he even glanced up. Wade’s wounds were the priority there. No distractions.

“What about now?”

Peter exhaled soundly. “I broke the contract, didn’t I? Granted, you weren’t supposed to chase me, but here we are.”

He hissed, his stomach quivering when Peter applied the pad and then began wrapping the gauze around his middle. The movement, though, got him in close proximity with Wade’s chest. He had been before, but in that moment he wasn’t concentrating on a wound.

He made the mistake of glancing up at the man where he was met with an inscrutable gaze. It didn’t matter that Peter had been able to dom Wade before. That, what they had in the bathroom, was real. No masks, no contracts, no rules. They were meeting each other as themselves. 

Bloody, scared, tired, and — above all — still reaching out to each other.

“Thank you,” Peter said, straightening up and meeting Wade’s gaze. “For not giving up on me.”

Wade kissed him. Not a hard press of mouths, but something delicate and fragile and full of everything that went unspoken between them. Peter cried as Wade relentlessly continued to taste his lips and salty tears, unhurried and gentle. He didn’t know where to place his hands as Wade’s were framing his neck, thumbs caressing his jaw.

“Promise me,” Wade said roughly, when he pressed his forehead to Peter’s, “that you’ll never leave my side.” He pulled back to search Peter’s eyes. “Promise me that you’ll trust me to protect you and those you hold dear.”

“Only if you’ll allow me to do the same.”

He matched Wade’s intense and determined gaze with one of his own.

“I’d gladly lay down my life for you, Peter Parker.”

Peter kissed him, hard and desperate as Wade sneaked his arms around his hips and pulled him in. Both gasped, but for different reasons. 

“Shit, your wounds,” Peter said breathlessly.

Wade kissed him silent.

They didn’t go beyond that as they shucked off their clothes and went to bed, lazily exploring each other’s body through kisses and wandering hands. Peter fell asleep with Wade cuddling him, the satin sheet still acting as a flimsy barrier between their skins, but their legs entwined.

His bladder woke him up, though. The overcast morning light filtered through the gap between the curtains and Peter blinked owlishly. But when he tried to scoot over, the arm tightened around his middle. Peter waited a minute, then tried again. The same reaction.

“Wade, I need the bathroom,” Peter said, his mouth not working well. Wade’s arm didn’t relent. “I’m serious.”

The more he struggled, the more awake he became. And miffed.

“Wade.”

“No,” he said, and Peter couldn’t decide if it was petulant or groggy. “You’ll wander off.”

“How can I do that when the bathroom is inside this room?”

“You’ll leave. Won’t let you.”

Peter deflated. Okay, he could understand that, but his bladder didn’t.

“Wade, I already promised you I won’t leave your side from now on. You took Fisk out for me. There is literally nothing else in this world that would be able to take me away from you.”

Well, he didn’t know he could be so maudlin first thing in the morning. He waited. The arm retreated, and Peter bolted out of the bad and made a beeline to the bathroom.

When he re-emerged Wade was talking to Igor in hushed tones at the door. His eyes trailed down the white patches and gauze to the dark grey cashmere pants that hung low on his waistline, to the muscled, perfectly round ass. He felt like squeezing it.

“Morning, Igor,” Peter said with a smile as he came to Wade’s side, his hand gliding over Wade’s ass to do exactly what he intended to do. Wade jolted slightly, before smirking at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Parker.”

“Just Peter’s fine.”

Igor nodded, then excused himself, and Wade turned to face Peter, hands resting heavily over Peter’s hips.

“So.”

“So?” Peter asked, still smiling as his gaze latched onto Wade’s lips.

“What do you say about meeting every mafia boss in the entire world?”

That jarred Peter out of the many fantasies that were going through his mind as he felt the sturdy body underneath his palms.

“What?”

“There’s a Summit tonight at a basilica in the middle of the city. Each boss can only bring two men, and Miguel is in pretty bad shape.”

Peter blinked. “You— want me to act as your bodyguard?”

Wade grinned. “Igor needs a partner he can rely on. And he said that you think on your feet. Between his brawns and your brain, I can fall asleep at that meeting and I wouldn’t fear for my life.”

Peter blinked some more, letting that knowledge sink in. 

“I’m— not sure I’m qualified for—”

Wade snorted. “You eluded my grasp for the past year and I have an extensive network of contacts around the globe.”

He opened his mouth to— argue or something, but he was short on words. So he nodded and Wade kissed the tip of his nose with the sort of childish giddiness that only kids could possess. Kids and Wade, after that.

Peter had enough time to do his research on the people that were going to be present at the Summit, but this time Google wasn’t going to cut it anymore, so he went to the dark web where he found a lot of info on Wade and almost everybody in the underworld. In total, there were 32 mafia heads across the globe, the bigger percentage of them being concentrated in Asia, Russia and America. It was a lot of information, so he was grateful when lunch came over and Wade plied him with Italian food.

Risotto, various kinds of fish fried or marinated, and fresh side dishes covered two of the three round tables on Wade’s balcony. They chatted about small things like the weather, differences between Italians and Americans, customs, food, and then Peter’s Aunt.

“She’s fine,” Peter said after he swallowed the mouthful he took from the second side dish: baked zucchini, tomatoes and onions where he added olive oil and copious amounts of parmesan. Cheese was never too much.

Wade nodded and didn’t prod for more, even though Peter would have told him if he did.

“Your skin,” Peter started after he wiped his lips with the napkin. “You never told me what happened.”

He paused mid-chewing, meeting Peter’s gaze without revealing anything. Maybe he had asked too much. But now that they were both relaxed, rested, and enjoying each other’s company, Peter was reminded of the little details he had noticed when they had a contract and which Wade never explained.

“There was a fire in the building where my offices were,” he began quietly, eyes distant. “One employee was caught under a fallen shelf, and I helped him on my way out of the building. Y’know, the last one to leave the ship is always the captain. He escaped, I didn’t. A wall collapsed and I was caught underneath. The firefighters took half an hour to get to me. By then the fire had spread over the entire floor.”

Peter took everything in with a stoic face. He placed the fork down quietly, leaving the rest of the side dish untouched.

“But the fire didn’t give me this make-over. I was admitted to the hospital with second-degree burns. 36% of my body was covered in blisters. The surgeon took care to get the rest.”

“What?”

Wade’s gaze shifted towards the garden, his own lunch unfinished.

“He said that the drug he used was supposed to accelerate my healing factor. And it did. So much that it turned my skin into a permanently scarred piece of art.”

“Who was he?”

Wade smirked as he looked at Peter from the corner of his eye. “Are you gonna track him down and make his life a living hell, baby boy?”

“Or something.”

His smirk softened to a little smile. “He’s imprisoned. For life. Without the right for parole.”

Peter leaned back in his chair and let everything Wade said sink in. The cool wind ruffled his hair as a napkin that had been covering the bread basket flew over Wade’s shoulder and settled at the far end of the balcony.

“What’s the reason for tonight’s Summit?” Peter asked after a while, bringing them both back to the present.

“Updates, re-negotiations, something something. The usual.”

“Well, the usual is not something I know about. So you’ll have to walk me through every detail.” Wade groaned. “Don’t give me that look. You asked me to dance. Now show me how.”

They both grinned at the implications.

Later that afternoon, Peter was at the table pushed near the window, multitasking between two laptops and one computer monitor that was hooked to Peter’s Raspberry Pi. Igor brought in the second laptop and the monitor three hours ago.

“There won’t be weapons allowed inside,” Igor said from the chair near the door. 

He found it strange that he kept that much distance between them, but Peter also noticed that he only did that when Wade wasn’t around. Did he think Peter would seduce him? But no, from the information he compiled in his mental folder about Igor, he didn’t swing that way, and he most certainly didn’t feel any kind of emotion towards Peter— except, maybe some sort of respect.

Oh well, Peter wasn’t complaining. He didn’t like it when people breathed down his neck when he worked.

“So no possibility of it turning into a bloody fiasco.”

Igor shrugged as he cleaned his gun with the kind of care that Peter would reserve for Wade. Speaking of, why was Wade taking so long? He only said that he was going out for a bit. It had been over an hour already.

“Unless someone manages to slip in something else just as dangerous.”

Peter’s eyebrows climbed on his forehead. “Right. It’s a mafia meeting. Not another pompous ball.”

“We’ll be okay. Nobody wants to declare war on other families when they can spend the time forging new relations or renewing them.”

Just then, Wade burst through the door with two transparent plastic bags that covered two suits. And Wade was in his Deadpool costume.

“What the— you’re going fully masked at this meeting?”

“‘Course.” He placed the two suits on the bed then unzipped both as Peter made his way to him. “You two will wear masks, too.”

“Is it because it’s a masked meeting?”

Wade shook his head. “This is our signature. They’re used to it.”

Peter took in a simple black suit, with a white shirt and a black bow, soft to the touch, and right next to it another one. But compared to Wade’s, it was of a deep red and the shirt had a light blue color with red in-seams. The mask atop was similar to the one Peter wore when he first met Wade, but for the fact that it was completely red and the webbing imprints were of a silver grey. And it covered his entire head and neck.

When he looked at Wade, he was grinning so hard and wide that Peter could trace the contours of it through the mask.

“Thought it’d fit your underworld name,” he said with giddiness.

Peter opened his mouth, but then shook his head and took the mask in his hand, feeling the soft material.

“Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman,” Wade said. “That’s your signature. But why Spiderman?”

“Because Batman was taken.” 

Wade snorted a laugh at that and Peter grinned, finding the mask more appealing by the second.

It took Peter considerable amount of concentration and patience to get back to finish researching the mafia bosses. Occasionally, he asked the two to prove or disprove conflicting info, and both always replied. Igor was still taking care of his guns. The small table was full of components and three other pistols were waiting on the floor. Wade took the bed and was watching— cartoons on his tablet. 

By the time they had to leave, Peter’s head was a bit dizzy with the amount of info he crammed into it, but washing his face gave him a bit of respite.

When they went through three sets of security, Wade grumbling when he was patted down and even more when it was Peter’s turn, Peter felt fresh and ready to keep his role on. No one commented about their masks, so Wade hadn’t exaggerated when he said that they were used to that.

But when they entered the room, spacious, lit by three imposing chandeliers above a freakishly long oval table carved entirely from stone, it finally sank in. Peter was really doing that— joining the mafia, that is. Becoming part of Wade’s subordinates. No. His most trusted people, right where Miguel and Igor stood.

“You’ve been neck-deep in the dark webs,” Wade said lowly as they made their way towards his assigned seat. “Any info on the dudes I’m sitting between?”

“Do you want it in chronological or alphabetical order?” Peter said, smirking. The mask was thin enough that he could feel the material stretching with his lips.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Wade mirrored his smirk. “Lay it on me when we take a break. I’m feeling like expanding my relations tonight,” he said before he sprawled onto his seat.

Peter followed Igor’s example and stood two steps behind, kept his hands behind his back, chest pushed slightly forward and legs apart. The guy on Wade’s right was none other than Quentin Beck or Dr. Ludwig Rinehart, but he went by his infamous name: Mysterio. The other one was Nathaniel Essex, a fairly known tycoon— by day. By night he went by the name of Mister Sinister.

He hoped the break and Wade’s attention span were long enough for Peter to rely the most important bits. The host of the Summit entered the room, followed by two masked figures, and everybody fell quiet.

Peter’s whole attention was on her and the people around the table, even though his eyes were trained on Wade’s sprawled posture in the plush chair. 

What was it that Wade told him that morning? Between his brain and Igor’s brawn Wade could sleep through the entire meeting knowing that he was safe?

He smirked beneath the mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [suit](http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/pc/Andrew+Garfield+Andrew+Garfield+looks+red+XDP6XAYyatvl.jpg) Peter is wearing at the Summit.

**Author's Note:**

> The [bike](https://content.kawasaki.com/Content/Uploads/Products/7307/Colors/rckzr5te.3pt.png) Peter rode on at the beginning of the fic.  
> The [baby blue suit](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1LtBxpaAoBKNjSZSyq6yHAVXaE/CUSTOM-MADE-BABY-BLUE-GROOM-SUIT-BESPOKE-TAILORED-SKY-BLUE-TUXEDOS-FOR-MEN.jpg) Peter was wearing at the ball.  
> And the [bordeaux suit](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1KMkbKpXXXXcEXXXXq6xXFXXXA/Free-Shipping-2014-Latest-Coat-Pant-Designs-Custom-Made-Suit-Mens-Burgundy-Suit-Bespoke-Red-Tuxedo.jpg) Wade was wearing.


End file.
